


The Golden Eye

by TheLostYeti



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Royalty, BAMF Stiles, Dark?Stiles, F/M, King Derek Hale, M/M, Mage Stiles Stilinski, Magic!Stiles, Moral Ambiguity, Original Character Death(s), Prince Derek, thief!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-22 21:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3743620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLostYeti/pseuds/TheLostYeti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>REWRITTEN:Derek's love for Stiles, the Black Mage, is absolute. They are bonded until death, by the will of the most powerful magic user in the world - Stiles himself. Then, when Stiles is killed unexpectedly, the bond is shattered, and Derek swears to never love again.</p><p>Twenty years later, King Derek lives peacefully in his kingdom. His people are happy, his friends are starting their families, and Derek has some time to himself. That is, until a smart-mouthed servant steals from the King, and what a surprise when Derek realizes...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this story almost three years ago, and I have never been able to put it away. I think a part of me has wondered if I finished it the way I meant to when I rushed through it all those years ago. So, over my holiday break, I rewrote the story and revised the timeline, which I added to the very last chapter. I took all of your comments, questions, suggestions, and speculations to return to you a story I could be proud of. It’s still imperfect, but I’m excited to share what I feel is finally the complete tale of the Black Mage.  
> Please leave me a note! Gigantic, magical, wish-granting cupcakes to everyone does! And thank you so, so much for reading.

_24 Years Ago_

That day, Derek fell so hard that he missed it when his brain hit the floor.

Derek almost didn’t see him, at first. He faced away from Derek, lounging on the corner stone of the palace fountain like a common gardener on his break. As the first heir to the Hale kingdom, Derek didn’t have time for strangers. Especially not a stranger who was dressed like any ordinary servant, draped in coarse brown clothing which borrowed its color from mud and its fit from trolls.  

But then the man lifted his head, and his eyes caught the sun. Ah.

And Derek thought, _“Mate.”_

Laura had always told him that the best part of having a mate was the gifts received during the claiming process. Prince Derek thought his future mate might like a gift, not that he would ever tell his sister that. And so, the very next day, he took great care in ripping out the nicest rose in the palace gardens. He brushed his teeth and combed his hair, twice. Then, pulling himself to the fullest height a nine-year-old boy could have, he marched up to the man lounging by the fountain and shoved a rose in his face.  
  
His soulmate laughed, delighted, filling the air with the smell of bubbles and spring-water. “Your Royal Highness, you flatter me,” His gold eyes twinkled as he spoke. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”  
  
Derek stared, mouth set in a firm line. He meant to speak, he did, but his traitorous body had a different idea. It ran away.  
  
The following morning, the Crown Heir stole the nicest gold ring his sister owned and took his time in front of the vanity’s looking glass. He brushed his human teeth and his wolf teeth, just to be sure. As a future King of the Clawed Throne and the proud kingdom of Werewolves, Derek would demand the attention of his future mate. This time, when he stalked up to the fountain, he was ready.

But then those gold eyes turned Derek’s way, and the Prince suddenly remembered that thing he had to do, back there, pretty urgently, he thought. In leaving, he may have accidentally chucked the ring at the human’s face.  
  
The day after that, he tried again with a necklace and ended up dropping it in the fountain.  
  
This routine continued for two long weeks before his beloved – whom he still had not yet spoken to, nor knew the name of – physically grabbed him before Derek could run off. Despite his strength, the werewolf dare not pull away from the human.  
  
“Your Highness,” the man said. His words were like a song. “You need to stop. Do you understand? Do you know who I am?”  
  
Derek gazed at the floor. All he knew was that he loved his soulmate and he would bring him the world when he became King. He didn’t have to say anything – the man could see Derek’s resolve in his eyes and his shoulders. With a sigh, the man let go of the Prince’s arm and bent his long body so that he could eye the boy steadily.

“You are 9 years old, love,” the man said gently. “I am 15. Perhaps your Royal Highness might court a partner his own age? The Duchess of Camille, perhaps? She’s quite stunning.”

Love. His soulmate had called Derek, “love”. Was that an admission of love? Should their wedding be a grand affair, or something small?

“Do you even know my name?” the human’s lips quirked in a semi-smile. Derek peeked up through his eyelashes.

With a short, gracious bow, the man swept one hand to his heart. “Your Royal Highness, I am the Golden Eye of the Realm, the Right Hand of Queen Talia Hale, and the Black Mage of the Clawed Throne. People call me many things, but as I like to be on a first-name basis with my future masters, you may call me Stiles.”  
  
And that’s how Derek learned he had fallen for his mother’s mage.

 

  
Knowing this didn’t make Derek feel any differently, although he did try to stay away for the next few days because, well, his beloved was a mage.

Mages were fickle business. They had tempers that brought down kingdoms, and naturally mischievous tendencies that tended to be deadlier than the everyday prank. For Stiles to be the Right Hand at only 15 years old promised a greater wisdom and power than should be possible. It also implied an earlier burnout – and when a mage died, they always went out in flames. If the Black Mage, the most powerful magic caster in the kingdom, warned someone to stay away, they did.

But it had been two dreadfully long days since he had last seen the mage, and Prince Derek was ready to engage in the claiming process with his beloved. He had brought a white pearl as a claiming gift and prepared his first declaration of engagement: _I would be a good husband because I love you and I’m a werewolf._ (Laura had advised him to be straightforward.) He would make Stiles love him, of course, because Derek was the Crown Prince, and nobody could say no.  
  
“No.” Stiles scrubbed his face with one hand. Stupidly, Derek wondered what it might be like to hold that hand.

“Mine Prince,” Stiles huffed. “I thought you understood. You and I are not to be. Mages are rarely mated, sensibly. And if we do find a partner, it will never be the ones we serve. Surely you know why?”  
  
Derek realized that mating a witch was notoriously destined for tragedy, what with powerful mages self-combusting in times of crises and whatnot. But the Crown Heir would protect Stiles forever and ever, so Stiles could be with him forever. If Derek could get his mouth to work, he would have told Stiles that.

Stiles sighed when several seconds went by and Derek did not speak. “Do not come again,” the Black Mage said. Then Stiles rose to leave.  
  
Derek panicked. “Wait,” he squeaked. The mage paused in surprise. He gazed steadily at the Prince, analyzing him like a foreign specimen.  
  
Derek held out the white pearl. “Please,” he said.  
  
Stiles’s eyes narrowed, but at last, he plucked it from Derek’s hand. “Thank you, mine Prince,” he hummed. Then the mage disappeared into the air, leaving behind the smell of spring-water and bubbles.  
 

_Present Day_

King Hale brought his claws down swiftly, making the execution as fast as possible. This man may have been a murderer but before he went rogue, he was a loving father and husband. He deserved this little mercy.  
  
The Red Mage and Derek’s right-hand woman, Lydia, was waiting at the sidelines with a pageboy and a warm, wet cloth. King Hale took it gratefully.  
  
“It is a cold day, your majesty,” the Mage said. She smiled prettily. “There is someone you need to visit.”  
  
“Perhaps tomorrow,” the King grunted. He rubbed his right wrist wearily as he walked past.  
  
Despite her small stature and heavy dress, Lydia floated next to him easily. “Tis not for me that I ask, but the fool I serve.”  
  
The King halted, and turned to face her. “Be careful, witch, ‘fore I cut off that banshee tongue with my claws.”  
  
Lydia tsked, unperturbed. “I love mine master, dear King,” She said. Derek snorted at that. “The Red Mage only serves one. And it is a cold day.”  
  
The Kings of the Clawed Throne would forever be haunted by beautiful, smart-mouthed mages. She was right, of course, like she always was. Today the fall wind had picked up some winter armor and cast its ice into the air like shattered glass.

Located in the North, the Hale Kingdom was forever caught between fall and winter, as if the other seasons couldn’t bother to pass by. Regardless, Derek’s kingdom was a happy one, and tonight everyone would likely be indoors. Well, except for the farmers, of which there seemed to be a greater population of than city dwellers. The well-fed country had fewer than 250,000 citizens in all, and only a couple of cities including the capital, with the rest of the land divided between farmland and villages.  The farmers were by far the hardiest of the Kingdom, many of them retired soldiers for the former Queen Talia Hale of the Clawed Throne.

There was a time when the Hale Kingdom was a forlorn place, its growth stunted by selfish kings and self-righteous enemies. Wars were frequent and punishing. Many good wolves died because of human clans who opposed “beasts” and the kings who led them.

But not today. Perhaps never again. It was the right day to go – the best day to go. And yet, as always, the King found himself hesitating.  
  
“Do not go, if you wish,” Lydia hummed, the way mages do when they’re secretly amused.  
  
Derek growled. “No, I’ll go.” He stalked down the hall, coatless. “One day I shall make good on that threat, Red Mage.”  
  
Lydia bowed so that her red curls hung in front of her feature, obscuring all but the curve of her ruby lips. Derek growled again and stalked out the door.

The sky belied warmth, but the cold air wrapped itself around Derek’s torso and slapped the King’s face cheekily. Everywhere the sun touched, green was changing to red and brown and yellow. Furry creatures scurried about, gathering food for the winter. The King fingered the gift in his pocket. Today he brought a shiny sea-colored stone the size of his knuckle. He hoped his love would like it.

The trek down the clearing was a long one, as usual, and Derek always made it slowly, steadily, as a human. Showing respect for any mage required some of the oddest rules – but a human visage was supposed to be polite. Or so Lydia had told him.  
  
The King of the Clawed Throne skirted the edge of the Black Woods, a vast territory that technically belonged to the palace although it really belonged to no one. It was an easy place to find although it took hold on no map, for it was a magicked forest by one of the most powerful mages to ever live. The Black Woods only presented on cold days, to lend itself as shelter to the pure of heart who needed it. It was the safest place in the realm.  
  
It was made by the Black Mage.  
  
Once upon a time, the King had wondered if he would be worthy to enter it, but obviously the Woods had thought so. Even with the tips of his claws stained red, Derek walked easily past the wall of trees onto the single trail the Woods offered – a cranky thing, lean and overgrown with shrubs and thistle. Almost immediately, he was greeted by strange warmth that came from every tree and earth and stone, and he felt cold no longer. The Woods was as mischievous as its maker, of course, and a couple thorny bushes would materialize at random times to grab at Derek’s trousers and shoes. The trees would chatter constantly to each other in the gentle breeze – they were more spirit than plant, and they tended to rattle when bumped.

About an hour into the stroll, the chattering ceased. Derek had arrived.

He followed the trail at a slightly slower pace, cautious now in this unmappable area. Fifteen years coming here and he still got lost every time. That was how the Mage intended it.  
  
He came across a clearing where the heatless sun beamed down upon some dying grass and a small, smooth headstone. Derek felt his heart drop. Suddenly, he felt nothing at all. He laid his stone on the earth, next to every other gift that he had brought. A shell. A magicked rose. A white pearl.  
  
“Hello, Stiles.” He said.  
  
Derek hated cold days.


	2. Chapter 2

_One Year Ago – The Land of Semikit_

Sunshine was of a joyful mind. Actually, she was always of a joyful mind. It was very unpleasant for anyone who caught Sunshine in an unjoyful state, for that usually meant that she was about to kill again. Fortunately, at the moment, Sunshine was quite joyful.

But that didn’t make her much more pleasant.

“Genim!” Sunshine cried out, wrapping the man in a bosom-filled hug. “Today, today is a coooold day!”

The young thief rolled his eyes. “I’m not in the mood for taking some rich man’s petty jewels, Erica. This better be good.”

“Oh it is,” Sunshine laughed. Her lips were painted with a mixture of Jatterback Snake Venom and coal, so it always appeared as if she had just enjoyed a very, very fresh meal. Damned werewolves. “Have you heard of Kingdom Hale?”

The thief sat up a little straighter. “I’m listening.”

Everyone knew of Kingdom Hale, even if Genim hadn’t made it his habit to know of everything. Twenty years ago, the most powerful witch in the world had cast a spell on the Kingdom, forever protecting it from enemies. Not much about the spell was known except that it was the strongest defense in history, and impossible to break. You had to be welcomed from the inside, one at a time, or the spell would rip you apart.

Spell or no spell, the important thing about the kingdom was that it was fat. Hog. Rich. Twenty years and no wars, no famine, and no crime? Genim bet that Kingdom Hale was ripe for the picking.

Sunshine smacked her lips together rudely. “So I was over by the Duke of Semikit…”

“Excellent,” Genim’s golden eyes sparkled. “The very paragon of truth and honesty. That man and his whole bloody city is made up of corrupt royalty leading a merry band of backwash imbeciles. I would trust a message from there like I would trust you to keep a promise.”

“Well, _I’m_ not the one who slept with three of the Duke’s cousins–”

“ _Two_ nobles,” scoffed Genim. “And one of the nobles’ wives.”

Sunshine chortled and slung her body over one of the chairs, causing it to groan under her weight. Though it whined, all of the den’s furniture had been spelled by one of Genim’s cheap tricks, and even a decade of abuse couldn’t chip, weaken, or wreck anything. Tucked behind an old cemetery, Genim’s home was built out of metal scraps and some wood. The resulting shack might have been the story parents told naughty children to keep them from wandering into cemeteries alone. It was hunched over on one side where Genim had tried to use a shorter, curved branch to hold up the wall. Rusting metal pieces stained the rotted wood they lay besides, casting a wicked glow on the already haunted air.

Its only saving grace was the den where Genim _actually_ lived, hidden beneath the shack’s floorboards, and spelled heavily against intruders. The den once belonged to Sir Edwin Bahove, a Ceruvian noble who came to his unsightly end in one great war or another. A wonderful monolith was erected in his name, and Sir Edwin came to his final resting place in the stone home beneath it. Genim had never met Sir Edwin in person, but he sounded awfully pretentious for a dead guy, and besides, wouldn’t Sir Edwin be happier resting in nature? With him out of the way, Genim had shoved off the monolith, warmed the den with furs and spelled furniture, and then casually decorated the cozy room with stolen goods.

Lots of stolen goods.

If Sunshine or Genim actually gave a damn, they could have afforded themselves their own property, and a nice one at that. Regardless, Genim was in it for the sport – and he and his pack were the very best.

Sunshine snapped her fingers in front of Genim’s eyes, shocking him out of his reverie. “Stay focused, Genim.”

“Mmhm… Go on.”

“There was a rumor at Semikit that a very important individual will be leaving the Hale Kingdom,” Sunshine smiled under Genim’s scrutiny. “And not just any noble. Princess Hale, herself.”

Genim let out a startled laugh. “Really? For what?”

“A servant.”

“Did they run out of servants in their kingdom? Too many rich folk?”

Sunshine shrugged. “Who cares? You always talk about being consulted by nobles and mages for your thieving prowess – here’s a chance to earn your name.”

“Earn my name?” Genim squawked. “Did I ever tell you about that one duchess of Irass and the golden goose?”

“Her son, Jack, stole the golden goose. You just spelled a weed for him to get in the castle.”

Genim scowled. “Or that Queen of Cynthia?”

“Tricking a spoiled princess into not taking her son for granted does not really make a thief’s name. Especially when you name yourself something stupid like ‘Rumplestiltskin’.”

“And how could I possibly do more to earn my name at the great, impenetrable Hale Kingdom, huh?” Genim sniffed. “They’re stupid rich, but they’re not exactly a name-making kingdom.”

Sunshine shrugged and examined her nails. “How about a magic book?”

 

 

 

 

_Present-Day – Hale Kingdom_

Laura liked her new servant immediately. The boy reminded her of… Someone. Especially his eyes – golden like the sun on a new day. Her head maid, Lucinda, did not feel the same.

“Of all the irresponsible, ignorant decisions… You spend a whole two minutes as a royal attendant to the Crowned Princess of the Hale Kingdom and you manage to knock over an entire chest of Far East cutlery? Are you blind?” Lucinda knocked the boy smartly on the side of his head. He rubbed his ear, miming pain, but from the twinkling of the boy’s eyes, Lucinda didn’t have much impact.

“Sorry ma’am. I just got so confused with all the directions and…”

“Oh, save me your sob story. You know I have over twenty new servants to train? Princess Laura paid 30 gold coins for 20 good servants at the kingdom of Serikit, and I think she ought to see that would-be Duke about making good on his word.

“How is it that you – a man old enough to be a father in his own right – can’t handle one place setting any better than that child can?” Lucinda pointed an accusing finger at one of the serving boys – a cherub whose only job was to bring mail.

The new servant grinned teasingly. He covered Lucinda’s weathered, brown hand with his own and peered into her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I’ll clean up. Before you know it,” With quick fingers, he had tucked a flower behind her ear. “Your place will be good as new.”

Lucinda was an old maid. Stout, ferociously organized, and brittle. And yet, the young man’s party trick seemed to have melted Lucinda into a flushing, twittering youth. Laura examined the servant with new eyes. He was rather handsome, upon closer attention. And familiar…

Before she could move to him, she was called to attention by a loud clanging at the door. Twin horns resounded from the castle gate, announcing the arrival of a king. Laura slipped away from the servant’s passages. She couldn’t afford to babysit the new recruits right now.

She approached the great hall to greet her younger brother as his attendants rushed to bring him dry clothes. He’s wet, she observed silently. Laura raised an eyebrow judgingly.

“Laura,” The King growled, his eyes flashing red. Water and snow dripped from his black hair. “How many times must I tell you to leave me alone? My personal affairs have never been and never will be of your matter. What exactly were you hoping for when you sent a girl to my bedchambers?”

Behind her, one of Laura’s younger handmaidens giggled into her hand. The King growled again, but Laura just squared her shoulders, unperturbed. “Derek,” she lectured. “You and I both know that very soon, your throne will need an heir. Now, you cannot rely on me to-”

“For the love of Goddess, Laura! I am perfectly happy handing the throne to you and your brood when it is time-”

“Brood?” Laura said, dangerously. She straightened her back. “That girl is Lady Ariana of the North Realm, and she simply wished to meet you. She was supposed to meet you in the throne room. The poor dear must have gotten lost.”

Derek seemed like he was fighting an aneurism. “Lost all the way to my sleeping quarters?”

“Really, Derek. You don’t get to be mad with me. You run from your memories, you run from your responsibilities, and now, you run from a girl whose only 16. Or is there another reason why you smell like the moat and ragweed outside of your bedroom window?”

Derek roared viciously, and his face began to transform into a beastly visage. His already large chest grew broader and his clothes tore. In reply, Laura sneered, showing too-sharp teeth and allowing her claws to grow from suddenly large, wolf-like hands. Laura and Derek snarled at each other in their half-wolf states, an inch away from blood.

“If I may, your majesties,” A voice interjected.

The royal siblings turned to stare at the visitor – Laura’s new servant. Unlike the quivering servants hiding behind the Princess and along the walls of the Great Hall, this one seemed relatively unscathed. Something about his calm demeanor spoke to experience with werewolves, or perhaps squabbling siblings. “Princess, it is time for your bath.”

The pair went silent. Derek sheathed his claws. Laura did as well. Neither bothered to hide their red eyes. The Princess nodded shortly at her servant. “Very well. Get my lavender salts from the Red Mage.”

The servant bowed to the Princess and the King and respectfully backed out of the room.

Laura sighed. “At least think about it, Derek.” She blinked. The King was ignoring her – his piercing gaze focused on someone else entirely. The servant leaving the room.

“Who was that?” Derek demanded.

“Hm? The servant?” Laura smiled fondly. “Gen-something. Oh, Genim, that was it. He was one of the servants I purchased from Duke Laan of Serikit. The Duke is getting old now and has been writing about us taking on some of his staff for him. I had Scott, our head of security, check them all out. They pose no threat.”

“No,” Derek mused, almost to himself. Something about Genim… “No, I suppose they don’t.”

 

_One Year Ago – Land of Semikit_

_Slam._

Genim stared at the book in front of him. It was unapologetically fake – the blackened cover had been purposefully burned and rubbed with saltwater to feel older, and the gold lettering was peeling after being painted on with goldberry juice. It was not the sort of book one would expect in an elegant, esteemed bookstore like the one Sunshine had taken Genim an hour away to observe. Nevertheless, it made its point.

“You want me to steal a mythical book that can grant limitless power to its owner. A mythical book that, by the way, is _a child’s tale_?”

The bookstore’s librarian, Boyd, crossed his arms over his massive chest. Boyd was Genim’s source for new targets, in a way.

When he was a child, his master sold him to a wealthy treasure hunter who cared more about the stories of the treasures he hunted than the objects themselves. Boyd’s master, without children, grew to love Boyd like a son, and bequeathed Boyd his personal library, his obsession with stories, and Boyd’s freedom when he passed. As such, the former slave was a true fountain of knowledge.

He also doubled as a bookstore owner which made him the perfect cover for the sale of not-quite-legally-obtained items that Genim had picked up over the years.

“The Black Mage’s book,” Sunshine said. “That fake is supposed to be an exact copy of the real book.”

“Which it isn’t,” Genim asserted.

“Well, duh,” Sunshine rolled her eyes. “The only thing it’s a copy of is a bunch of gibberish. But that’s not why we brought you here. Boyd, tell us what you learned.”

Boyd tapped the black book’s cover. “I received this book as a joke from my master back when he was hunting for the “Black Woods”, a land that can never be found on any map and – should you get your hands on a single leaf – can keep you warm for the rest of your life.”

“Yes, yes,” Genim interjected. “We’ve all heard those stories.” Boyd glowered, and Genim shrunk a little. Boyd was a big enough werewolf to crush him with his pinky, but he probably wouldn’t do that in front of Sunshine. Probably.

“When master gave this to me, he commented how it was strange that a natural mage like the Black Mage supposedly was would require a spell book. I paid this no mind since the writing in here is nonsensical anyway.

And then, yesterday, I bought an interesting find from an old, retired spellcaster.”

Boyd slammed another large, black book onto the table next to it. It was similar in shape and size, with familiar gold lettering etched across the heavy cover. Only this one read, “Martha’s Diary”.

Sunshine giggled and leaned over Genim, who scowled, running his hand over Martha’s script. He opened both of the books. To his surprise, the books were similar in structure – no title page, a date in the top right-hand corner, and a series of closely spaced, barely legible cursive. Genim hummed. There was a strange power emanating from the words. It made Genim dizzy when he tried to read them, like they didn’t belong to him.  

“So you think the Black Mage’s mystical spellbook is actually a secret journal? An old lady’s diary doesn’t exactly prove that, Boyd. And besides, this book is fake.” Genim tapped the fake Black Mage’s book. “Just because your master said it was an exact copy doesn’t mean it was.”

Boyd shrugged. He seemed to know how to say a lot more when he said very little. Genim grinned at him.

“But if it was…” Genim glanced down at Martha’s thick black diary, rich with secrets and stories. His mouth dropped open in awe. “Then the myth of the all-powerful book isn’t talking about spells, it’s talking about a diary. And if the great Black Mage was really a natural mage instead of a spellcaster, then his power doesn’t come from spells.”

Erica clapped her hands, giggling. “It comes from experiences! Like yours, Genim!”

Genim grinned down at the diary, shaking his head. A natural mage relies on his own experiences and his personal strength to work magic – like a musician might use feelings and experiences to compose beautiful pieces of music. Because of this, natural mages are almost never as strong as spellcaster mages who rely on the science of spells to manipulate nature. Typically, the more learned a spellcaster is, the more powerful, with natural mages at the very bottom of the totem pole.

Likewise, where spellcaster mages can trade handwritten spells and bubbling potions to share magic secrets, natural mages share stories. Of course, knowing how to produce the magic is very different from reading it, in either case. You wouldn’t ask just anyone to reproduce a masterpiece. But having the notes to a masterpiece can be almost as valuable as the music itself, in the right hands.

For a moment, Genim dreamed what it might be like to have the Black Mage’s unsurmountable power at his fingertips. The Black Mage – the maker of myths, of legends. What could Genim do with this magic? His dad… Just the possibility of having his father with him again made Genim’s fingers tighten around the diary’s weathered pages.

Sunshine nudged Genim, her eyes unusually serious. “We can find it, Genim. But if we do, you have to promise me not to try to use it to bring your dad back. Natural magic works like karma. If you bring someone to life, you could condemn yourself to death.”

Genim shook his head, shrugging off the deceiving feeling of hope. “So, pack. How shall we steal a dead man’s diary?”

 

_Present-Day – Hale Kingdom_

 

 

“I’m here to speak to the Red Mage,” Genim said, slamming his hands on the apprentice’s table. A few potions rattled under the force of the blow. The apprentice – Jameson? Jazz? Jack? – was a rather pretty boy with blue eyes and a trademark sneer that made him instantly unlikeable.

“No-one speaks to the Red Mage,” the boy sneered.

“Not even if I say pretty please?” Genim batted his eyes. The apprentice scowled. Genim shrugged. “Anyway, she mentioned something about taking on a new apprentice and-”

Jack-something’s eyebrow twitched. Genim smiled.

“-so I thought I might let her know that there’s a line of applicants waiting in the courtyard.”

The mage apprentice went on full-body alert. “What?” He hissed, throwing his chair back. He didn’t even take the time to spare Genim an angry glance before he was rushing to the door, knocking Genim’s shoulder on the way. It shut with a loud bang behind him, leaving the room silent except for a couple of potions shuddering in the aftershock.

Genim took his time getting to know the place; he wandered around the three expensive desks and the potion-filled cabinets. He took a peek in a couple of the bubbling brews and quickly identified the ones that were incorrectly mixed.

Ah well, the sneering apprentice could spare a couple body parts.

Genim paused to filch a sweet Calcime Crystal off one of the neater tables and then grabbed some sweet-smelling magicked boiling salts from the bottom drawer.

This was once the home of the Black Mage, if rumors were to be believed. Genim would be a fool to believe that the man’s magic diary would just be lying around, waiting to be stolen, but it was as good a place as any to start searching. Unfortunately, the Red Mage seemed to be of the overly-organized sorts, and it didn’t take long to realize that everything labelled was exactly as labelled. 

A little disappointed, Genim poked at the bottom of drawers and the stone floors. He was unsurprised to discover absolutely no false bottoms, hollow openings, or mysterious magic journals. He did, to his delight, find a living glass fox sneaking along the mantle of the fireplace.

Living glass was extremely difficult to create, and almost as hard to maintain, but they were beautiful, useful creatures. Grinning, Genim teased the little thing with a finger, tickling its nose until it nipped at him with sharp glass teeth. Abruptly its entire body froze, head directed at the doorway.

“I hear someone was asking for me?” a sweet voice said from the doorway. Genim’s blood chilled.

“Someone is always asking for you,” King Derek growled. Next to his menacing scowl and puffed-up body posture was a petite thing with sharp eyes and flaming red hair.

The Red Mage.

Although his situation was less-than-preferable, the thief could only feel instant respect and a little bit of amour. The mage was naturally powerful, and it showed. She had obviously magicked the ten-foot hardwood door so that it was absolutely inaudible when it swung wide open for her. As a fellow witch, Genim felt far out of his realm. As a thief, he had been caught in worst situations.

“Your name, peasant,” the Red Mage commanded sternly.

“He’s Laura’s new assistant-”

“I’ll ask you when I want an answer from you, my king.” Genim blinked. He had never heard of anyone, mage or otherwise, speaking that way to their master, their king. He glanced upwards in surprise to see the king’s handsome face pulled into a somewhat childish glower. Genim got the feeling that this king was not as in charge as he made people think, which was… Interesting.

The Red Mage eyed him like a particularly exotic creature ready for dissection. Genim cleared his throat. “I am Genim, son of Johnathon Stilinski, mistress. I was simply gathering bath salts for my mistress and-”

“You have very pretty eyes, Genim,” the witch told him.

The two men stared at her.

“Thank you?”

“Come here, boy,” the most powerful living mage in all of the global realms commanded. Genim briefly wondered whether he could pet the fox one more time before he died.

 He took a couple steps closer until he was within arm’s reach and then waited before her, eyes down, head bowed, waiting for her to turn him into a cockroach or something equally humiliating. She was that scary.

“Look at me,” the Red Mage whispered, her voice like a cold caress.

Genim raised his eyes slowly. His heartbeat thrummed like an overworked drum in his chest, _BA-thump, BA-thump, BA-thump._

“Curious,” the Red Mage murmured when their eyes met. “Such lovely gold.”

Slowly, the woman reached out to dig her hands into the thin fabric of his shirt, and carefully pull him to her in the mockery of a hug. Genim’s hands came up automatically to stop just a breath away from the back of the lady’s silky, pale blue dress. She pulled away almost as soon as she had grabbed him, one lock of her long fiery tresses falling free.

The woman was pale, eyes wide, full lips parted in a noiseless scream. Genim made a move to help her, steady her in some way, but suddenly King Hale was there, teeth bared and defensive, eyes burning red. His arm muscles rippled, evident even through the King’s rich cloths.

Then the King said the stupidest thing Genim had ever heard. “Do not prevent her visions.”

Genim felt like strangling him. He may impress like royalty, but this was a royal git, he was. He deserved to have his kingdom pillaged. “Your majesty,” Genim gritted out. “With all due respect, what century have you been living in?” With a tug, the servant ripped the Red Mage out of King Hale’s hands. Genim had no doubt the King could have decapitated him if the werewolf weren’t so shocked. Or perhaps the King was just silently planning Genim’s murder. Either way, the beautiful witch in front of them took priority.

“What did you say to me?” It sounded more like shock than anger, which was nice.

Genim gently laid the Red Mage out in front of him and used firm hands to hold her head to the side in case she needed to vomit.

“Back home I have a friend, Sunshine. She used to have shaking fits just like these. They almost killed her before she was Turned.”

King Hale’s caterpillar eyebrows were knit in a low, angry “V” over his red eyes. “Lydia is a Banshee. These are her visions. Leave her be, you fool!” The King moved as if to shove Genim away, but Genim hovered closer to her, using his thin body like a shield.

The Red Mage – Lydia – was still shaking. A worryingly long fit. Genim found himself unreasonably upset. “Me? I’m the fool?” Genim hissed. King Hale reared back at something in Genim’s glare.

“Your _Majesty_ ,” Genim said. “I may be a no-good, penniless, thie-grieving servant, but between the two of us, I have more knowledge of modern-day medical sciences than every man, mage, and royal in this whole bloody kingdom. A lot has happened in two decades, _your Majesty_ , and locking yourself in your pretty, fucking walls doesn’t make you invincible. You know what I’ve learned while you were fattening yourself up like a lion behind trees?”

The King’s green eyes sharpened on Genim. “What-”

“That banshees don’t need fucking fits to have visions. All banshees are Epileptic – a human disease that causes these shaking fits. Not all Epileptic humans are banshees of course, they need to have the banshee blood. Grab me that drawer.”

The King of the Hale Kingdom obeyed the servant’s order without a second thought. He yanked the drawer out of the nearby desk violently, splintering the expensive wooden sides in the process. Genim grabbed it and started searching through it with one hand.

“About 15 years ago a school in the Amar Kingdom discovered that shaking fits were less frequent in banshees further North. Which seemed strange, until they observed one of the banshees eating…”

With a victorious cry, Genim yanked out a spindly branch with a few miserable, browning leaves.

“Mistletoe.” Genim said. With one hand, he stripped off the leaves and crushed it into a fine powder in his fist. “Northern peoples use mistletoe and lily of the valley as herbs to add taste to their food. Unbeknowst to them, these two plants – among a handful of other herbs – lessen the frequency and severity of fits, allowing banshees to have their visions…” Genim sprinkled the leaves in the Mage’s mouth and gently closed her lips, forcing her to swallow.

Slowly, the shaking subsided and then ceased. Lydia blinked slowly, exhausted but okay. “…Without the fits.” Genim finished. He smiled down at the young woman, drawn to her lovely, lost eyes. She was stunning, even weary and tear-stricken she was. Strangely, Genim did not feel the usual attraction he would to a gorgeous lady in his lap. Instead he felt a little – proud?

When Lydia’s eyes refocused, Genim was met with a breathtaking smile. “Dename amin cze,” She whispered.

_Long time no see._

The air stuck in Genim’s throat.

The King hovered over them, oblivious. “Derek,” the witch said to the King, her voice regaining strength. Her eyes never left the thief’s. “We need to speak in private. And boy,” The Red Mage’s gaze pierced Genim suddenly, all hint of gentleness gone. “Thank you. Laura chose well.”

King Hale hesitated and then nodded shortly at Genim, effectively dismissing him. Genim bowed on his way out.

Genim was a smart man. He knew when it was time to cut his losses and run. But something- something was making him stay. And it wasn’t just the living glass fox that had snuck into his shirt as he was leaving. The air of mystery made Genim crave the secrets of this kingdom more than any amount of riches in the world.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there will be torture and non-consensual acts in this chapter, so please do not read if you are worried about that. I will also put the warnings in my tags.

_Twelve Years Ago_

Genim never remembered anything earlier than his fifth birthday, which was a vague memory at best. This was unsurprising to him, since those were pointless memories anyhow, but his father used to say that he was quite the troublemaker.

“You were a little ball of energy, my boy,” his father would chuckle. “We knew you would be a mage the moment you were born. Your mother used to have to tie a ribbon around your ankle when you learned a floating spell by mistake. Took us two weeks to get you back on the ground.”

When Genim was eight years old, he asked his father why his mother was not there. For the first time in Genim’s whole life, his father was vulnerable. He and Genim sat down on the low-hanging branch of an old wicker tree that had lived in their neighborhood since the beginning of time. They watched the windswept leaves play over the tops of kids’ heads and the twinkling of flame-flies buzzing at the tail-end of a fallen sunset. Then Genim’s father explained what happened that night.

“Your mother saved you,” his father explained. They were both crying by the end of it all. “The man came and – we couldn’t stop him but – she saved you.”

There was a wrongness in this statement that pushed at Genim’s chest and propelled him to say, “Are you sure?”

 

_Present-Day_

Genim stretched his arms over his head, luxating in the cracking of his sore, pinched joints like a creaky old man.

The Hale Kingdom may be small, but it was pretty. The courtyard looked like something out of Sunshine’s romance novels – the sun glowed gently, perpetually, casting a warm shine on the white grounds despite the unforgiving cold. The palace fountain quickly became Genim’s favorite spot. It was frozen and beautiful and it made the servant feel nostalgic about his youth playing by the frozen pond in his father’s farm.

Above him, the skies rippled with a translucent pink sheen over cloudless, blue skies. That shine was, of course, part of the mysterious Black Mage’s unbreakable barrier. It stretched to all corners of the kingdom like a giant, magicked globe, keeping all but the animals out of its territory. Just to get into the kingdom, Genim had to pass a strangely intense interview with Princess Laura, who seemed to like him, and Scott, the head of the Royal Guard, whom he had quickly decided was a long-lost brother.

The interview was mainly variations of, “Do you intend to harm the Hales in any way?” Which was easy enough to answer. By the time it was over, Scott and Genim had agreed to a weekly bout of Chess, a bi-weekly round of drinks, and almost daily visit from Scott on his rounds.

After the interview, Laura, Scott, and their few guards brought over the new servants one at a time past the barrier. Apparently, the Black Mage had the foresight to magic a handful of medallions which were the only way in or out of the kingdom. Besides the deceased Black Mage, only the Red Mage, Lydia, knew the spell, and each medallion was for a single use out and in to the kingdom before it stopped working. A kind of fail-safe to make sure the medallions weren’t misused if they fell into the wrong hands.

Fortunately, Genim had a plan to get his hands on one of those medallions once he had the Book. A kind of plan, anyway.

“Do you ever work?”

Genim grinned, rolling his head back to see his favorite werewolf. King Derek.

“Lucinda would never let me work too hard,” Genim said, stroking his hairless chin. “Effort would wrinkle my pretty face, she says.”

Derek grumbled something under his breath about youngsters getting away with everything, but Genim knew the ‘wolf wouldn’t do anything about it. Rolling his shoulders, Genim got up and glanced around the King.

“Where’s your guard?” Genim questioned casually.

Derek gave him a flat look. “Don’t worry, Lydia’s not here. She’s off on some errand.”

“Oh. I’m not relieved, just. You know.” Lydia scared him, and from King Derek’s demeanor, the werewolf understood that fear. “So… I feel like we’ve really been getting to know each other these last few weeks.”

Derek eyebrows were the masters of sarcasm.

Genim elbowed Derek teasingly. “Come on, your majesty, you have to admit we bonded a little. Every day, we meet here snow or sun, and then I talk at you and you grunt. It’s our brotherhood!”

The King shifted and turned away, glaring at the far side of the courtyard. “I’m only here to check the fountain. It’s one of our most prized artifacts.”

“Oh.” Genim scratched his head. “Kind of like how you inspect the library every evening Princess Laura brings you a new lady friend?”

“Yes,” The King deadpanned. “Like that.”

“Well, if I were you, I’d just tell her you already have somebody. That way she’ll stop bringing people by, and when she asks to meet her, you can say that you ended your affair.”

“I’ve already tried that. She could tell I was lying.”

“Damn werewolf hearing.”

“No,” Derek hesitated. “No, it’s not that. I already had… Somebody. Once. A long time ago.”

Genim ogled the stoic werewolf. This was the farthest he had gotten in any conversation with the King, most of which was immensely one-sided.

“Well, it’s probably for the best, anyway,” Genim chirped, brushing some snow of his hair. He smiled into the King’s green eyes – a move that never failed to make the King flustered and irritable coincidentally.

Almost on command, a reddish hue crept up Derek’s tanned skin to settle high in his cheeks. The King glanced away, pretending he hadn’t just spent two long seconds drinking in the boy’s golden eyes. “And why’s that?” He asked gruffly.

Before he could answer, the Red Mage emerged, a swirl of blood-red skirts over the white snow. “Your majesty,” Lydia said sternly. “Please resist the temptation to wander off in the middle of court. You know you can always meet Genim in the library over supper.”

The King turned bright pink. Genim glanced between the King (who was studiously observing his shoes) and the high brows of the Red Mage, grinning so widely his cheeks felt they were going to fall off.

“I needed to… Inspect the fountain…”

“Yes, yes. Come along, sire.” Lydia grabbed the King’s arm in an impressively sturdy grip and gently pulled him away.

Genim beamed stupidly to himself as the pair walked away. In the distance, he heard the red-headed witch sniff, “It’s not like he does any work, anyway.”

 

_One Year Ago – The Land of Semikit_

“So, once you have the Book, which is located…”

“…In a place that never stays the same. Yep, that’ll be easy.”

Sunshine shrugged. “Or it’ll be in some magicked, transforming artifact that you’ll never find.”

Boyd sighed. “Once you have the Book, you’ll need to get your hands on a medallion spelled by the Red Mage to get out of the kingdom. Keep in mind that the Red Mage is renowned for her loyalty to her master. She probably won’t hand over a medallion if you try any of that patented Stilinski charm. Just keep your lies short and to the point. Use the letter I made for you from Princess Laura – an exact copy, down to the magical signature.”

“Hey!” Genim squawked. “I worked hard on perfecting my Stilinski charm! Watch this: Hey, Sunshine.”

Sunshine’s eyes twinkled. “Yeah, Genim?”

“My! But you are such a beautiful damsel in distress.”

Sunshine arched an eyebrow.

“Let me help you out of it.”

Sunshine and Genim held back their laughter for a good two seconds before they were on the ground, clutching their sides. Even Boyd cracked a smile. Yeah, Boyd thought. Genim would be fine.

_Present-Day_

Genim had once asked Scott what he thought of the barrier. Scott hadn’t wanted to commit to an answer, but he did say that it made his job easier.

“At one point, we were the only kingdom with ‘wolf royalty in all of the lands. We earned many enemies, just being who we are.”

Genim frowned. “Werewolves haven’t exactly been second-class citizens in the Land of Semikit. A lot of them are part of the Royal Guard.”

“Maybe, but I’ll bet they still follow those restrictive human laws, right? We don’t have those here.” Scott grinned boyishly. “I’ll bet the humans still make rules to keep our “beastly” selves from endangering the public.”

Genim had never thought of it that way. He had visited (read: stolen from) several ‘wolf-friendly kingdoms in the past, each with their own strange set of customs. Werewolves were always admired for their physical prowess and treated well. However, as Sir Scott said, many rules supposedly kept the public protected from the unlikely event of a feral werewolf, including the common practice of chaining up all werewolves, young and old, on the full moon. Most kingdoms and villages had even instated a set of King Crow Laws, named after the bitter, racist old King who had declared that wolves and humans must be segregated in all public facilities and limited wolves to physical occupations only. Semikit had overturned those laws long ago -  but what would their people think of the peaceful lands of the Hale Kingdom where sweet werewolf pups and rosy-cheeked kiddies rolled about on the frozen earth with each other, as children do?

“Releasing the barrier and opening the trade routes would be really good for your neighboring kingdoms, actually.” Genim mused aloud. “Your land is probably one of the most socially advanced kingdoms of any I’ve visited. It would be good for you, too, seeing how far behind you are in medical sciences.”

Scott shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I think, anyway.”

“Why not? You’re the head of the Hale Royal Guard, aren’t you?”

“We’ve tried to take it down before – a few years after the Black Mage passed away. The magic is too strong. Even the Red Mage can’t release the barrier. It was probably intentional – I heard that the Black Mage had the gift of premonitions. He must have foreseen a need for our wall and left it until the danger passed.”

Genim didn’t think that the Black Mage could be that special, though he would never tell Scott so. If the mysterious Black Mage was like a legend back in Semikit, he was pretty much a God within the Hale Kingdom. Only a handful had actually met the Black Mage in person, of course, but everyone spoke about him with a kind of hushed awe, as if he were still among them, guiding them, magicking some more miracles into their protected bubble.

According to Scott, the only enemy who still threatened to overturn their “Demon Society” was a small, dying militia called the Argents. They were camped just beyond the kingdom boundaries, and every so often, they would pass a messenger through to tell the Hale royalty just how much they hated them.

“I’m surprised they didn’t attack us when we first entered,” Genim said.

“Yeah, we’ve been using the Lukrun strategy for decades, courtesy of the Black Mage. It speaks to how single-minded the Argents are that it works every single time.”

“Lukrun strategy?”

“Yeah,” Scott dimpled. “Like, look!” Scott pointed at a gardener on the far side of the courtyard, and Genim turned his head to stare at him.

When he turned back to Scott, he was gone. _Look, run_ , Genim realized, laughing.

 

_Twenty-Three Years Ago_

Stiles kicked the rocks in front of him angrily. It was such bullshit. Hadn’t he given his entire childhood, his entire life to preserving the Kingdom and the royal family? They had no idea what he had done for them. What he had sacrificed.

And now here comes _Queen Talia_ , with her perfect _Queenly_ logic, and her stupid _Queen_ face. It was all so stupid. Stiles scrubbed at tears on his face.

Great. Now he’d be puffy. He kicked another rock.

“We both know what a recognized mate-bond does, Stiles.” Queen Talia had said. Her husband had put his arm around the Queen, as if she was the one who’s heart was breaking. It was unfair of Stiles, he knew, because the Queen’s heart probably was breaking. She loved Stiles like a son.

“Derek can never know.”

“So what do you expect me to do?” Stiles pleaded. “He comes up to me every damn day, follows me like a fucking puppy. He brings me _gifts_. Derek knows, and…” Stiles laughed bitterly. “No amount of magic can take that away from him.”

“You can make him forget,” the Queen suggested hopelessly. “You can ask him to stop. The point is, my love, it has to be you. Because if you don’t convince him that you’re not really mates-”

“I’d end up killing him.” Stiles sighed into the sky, letting the wind sweep up his residual anger. As a natural mage, he always had to control his emotions. Control them. Control them. And if that boulder wasn’t heavy enough, now he had to control Derek’s too. But just for a second, a tiny, personal second, Stiles flopped down into a bed of grass by the babbling river and threw his frustrated, angry screams into the soil.

When he finished, he was a sweaty, panting mess. Better to be a mess than to accidentally take it out on some innocent passer-by. Stiles stripped of his shirt and shoes and jumped into the brook to rinse off.

The sun was especially healing this fall day. It wrapped its rays around Stiles like it was apologizing for Stiles’s stupid, bullshit life. Mages die young, Stiles knew. And if Derek and he were to recognize their mate-bond, were to make it real, then Derek would die when Stiles did. It was how the bond worked. It made them twice as strong, twice as weak. Forever co-dependent. Always together.

“Shit,” Stiles muttered, running a hand through his hair.

“What?”

Stiles noticed Derek watching him. Derek was a little too young to be interested in Stiles sexually, but even so, he had this unnatural habit of watching Stiles like he was devouring him. And he was always watching him, Stiles knew. He kind of hunted Stiles. He said it was ridiculously easy to find him, with his bubbly-spring-water-y scent in his nose.

Stiles tried to hold back a fond smile. “It’s nothing,” Stiles hummed. He shook off the water and stepped out of the river to put his shirt back on.

Derek’s posture was like one of his mother’s knights – alert and as unbending as the castle walls. But he didn’t act like a knight. He could have been a child – he still was a child, only ten years old. And Stiles was 16. He was an adult. He needed to act like one.

Stiles took a breath. “Actually, Derek. We need to talk.”

“Okay,” Derek regarded Stiles patiently. He was a child in love with his mate. Stiles wanted to yell it from the highest trees, wanted to carve it into every stone. He wanted to hold onto this, just a little bit longer.

“Look!” Stiles pointed in the direction of a wandering heron. As soon as Derek glanced away, Stiles took off running along the side of the river, putting as much distance between them as he could bear, knowing that when Derek realized what Stiles had done he would follow.

 

_Present-Day_

Only a couple of weeks had passed since Genim had come here to the Hale Kingdom and it was a little frightening how quickly Genim had grown attached to its people. Everyone treated each other as packmates whether they loved each other or hated each other. Life was about what you could do for others, not what you could do for yourself. King Hale embodied this lifestyle.

Every morning, King Hale woke early to do rounds with his royal guard – several of whom he kept a close friendship despite differences in status.

After a quick breakfast in the King’s chambers, the Crown of Kingdom Hale spent the day listening to his people and taking special trips to help unique cases.

That was it. That was his day. And Genim only knew this because he did this _every day._ (Not because he watched that perfect ass in those tight pants walking throughout the kingdom.)

The King, with no wars to plan or robberies to handle or allies to cajole, spent his entire day spending his wealth on his people. Genim could not figure out if he was a suicidal saint or an idiot. On the one hand, his people loved him. On the other, his kingdom was almost entirely dependent on the ecosystem it had built for itself, meaning any natural disaster could ruin it. It had literally no back-up plan. If a typhoon God wiped out as much as a single acre of farmland, the ripple effects could drastically affect every single inhabitant of kingdom Hale. Genim didn’t know how much magic the infamous Black Mage had used to protect this hidden realm, but even the greatest witch in the world couldn’t plan for everything.

Not that it was Genim’s business.

He just wanted to go down in history as the Thief that Managed to Steal from Kingdom Hale. And honestly, he was only watching the King for research purposes. He and the King had kept their daily conversations strictly professional since the Red Mage found them by the fountain. If only they could convince the Red Mage of that, whose eyes followed Genim with a frightening intensity.

Genim was broken from his thoughts by a wolf’s howl. An emergency.

Genim rushed in through the servant door expecting the usual thrum of energy and was instead met with an eerie quietness. The few servants who brushed passed him were running full speed. Suddenly, one of the young guards, Isaac, ran up to Genim. His blue eyes were wide and panicked.

“Genim, you know medical aid. Quickly, come with me.”

Genim didn’t have much choice. Isaac had dug his hand into Genim’s arm and started dragging him before he finished speaking. Genim was taken to the Great Hall where a mass of people in rich cloths stood crowded around a too-still, bloodied body. A horrifying trail of blood followed it in through the open doors. His face was turned away, but his thick, dark hair looked like…

_Derek._ In a panic, Genim tore through crowd to get to the man’s side. Falling to his knees besides the body, he realized that the man’s nose was too long, and his face was too thin. _Not Derek._ Relief swept through the servant like a tidal wave.

“He’s alive, Genim,” Isaac whimpered. Genim didn’t need to be told twice.

“Fox,” Genim commanded. The little glass fox Genim had taken from the Red Mage crept out from its warm burrow in Genim’s sleeves. It twitched its tiny nose at him in vague interest. “I need Lydia.”

“The Red Mage?” Isaac asked. “There’s no time. King Hale and the Red Mage are on the other side of the kingdom and Duke Hale- His heartbeat’s slowing.”

Peter Hale. Genim had always liked the King’s uncle. He was a weird, creepy, funny man – fiercely loyal to the King and Princess. Apparently their mother, the former Queen Talia, had risked her life to save Peter’s wife from an Argent attack many, many years ago. Since then, Peter had repaid his debt several times over.

And now here he was, bleeding to death in front of Genim.

_Think, Genim. Think._ Genim checked the wound and hissed out through his teeth. A gaping hole had been loosely padded with linens, but it wasn’t closing as fast as werewolf flesh typically would. Worse still, the shallow slice had been made just below the seventh rib, leaving the Duke’s intestines pulsing out of the skin with every breath. A human would be dead. A werewolf should have healed.

On impulse, Genim leaned forward, sniffing the wound. Wolfsbane.

“Fox, I need Wolfsbane, Rubia cordifolia, and Curcuma longa. The Wolfsbane is in Lydia’s personal greenhouse, the other two in her desk bureau.” Living glass figures were faster than hawks diving towards prey, thanks to their magical make-up. It’s part of what made them such valuable pets. With a quiet cock of its head, the fox evaporated.

“What’s wolfsbane going to do?” Isaac whispered worriedly.

“Damn this sheltered world. Wolfsbane is going to save Duke Hale, if we can find it.” Genim removed the cloth from the wound and turned to the nearest servant. “I need boiling water, clean linens, alcohol, and a sewing kit.”

“The Duke will not need to drink,” One of the bystanders tried to interject. Genim glared at him as he snatched the alcohol from the returning servant’s hands.

“It’s not for him to drink.” Genim grunted. He poured it over the duke’s wound, sterilizing it, and then over his hands as well. Then, just because he could, he poured some into his own mouth.

The glass fox popped up by Genim’s knee with the herbs. Genim patted its head in a silent thanks and hastily crushed the herbs between his fingers. He grimaced at the nearly-unconscious Duke. “Sorry about this,” he uttered. Then he gritted his teeth and smeared the herbs into the Duke’s wounds.

The horrible screams that followed were of a man being tortured to death. “Hold him down, hold him down!” Genim couldn’t peek at the people holding down the Duke, couldn’t think of the Duke’s agonized face. He had to keep working. In the corner of his eye, he saw one of the Duke’s beautiful baby girls try to run to her father, half-wolf, howling in pain and confusion and fear.

“I’m sorry,” Genim whispered as he hurried to massage in the poison. “I’m so sorry.”

 

_Twenty-Three Years Ago_

“I’m so sorry!” Prince Derek cried, juicy tears sliding down his cheeks as he held up the fine glass shards. “It was supposed to be for you!”

“Hush, hush mine Prince,” Stiles cooed gently, picking up the younger boy into his lap and hugging him tightly. The Prince was only ten years old, but already he outweighed Stiles’s 16-year-old self. The mage could clearly see the strong, kind man this child would be someday. A man that would likely strip Stiles in height and weight with no time at all. “Sweet one, look at me.”

Prince Derek sniffled.

“Alright, then.” Stiles chortled. “You know what I think? I think today, the gift should be you!” And the he launched his attack, peppering gross, slimy kisses all over the Prince’s face. Derek shrieked in surprised laughter, using one hand to ward off the barrage while keeping his other hand wrapped tight around the glass shards. Stiles stopped when he smelled blood.

He glanced down at Derek’s hand. In his excitement, the werewolf had accidentally cut himself on one of the sharper shards, staining it red. Stiles hummed in interest and set the Prince back down on the floor.

“Allow me?” The Black Mage scooped up the glass, carefully, and closed his eyes. Then, almost reverently, Stiles held the glass in a flat palm up to his lips and blew a thin, silent spindle of warm air onto the broken pieces. Derek leaned in closely to watch the broken pieces jump up and spin around each other like dancers. There were a few quiet clicks as the pieces snapped into smaller pieces, jumped onto each other, and reformed.

At last, Stiles leaned back, cheeks red with exertion.

“Wow,” Derek whispered.

“Wow is right,” the Mage agreed, smiling down at his creation. Then he cocked his head. “Huh. I was going for a wolf.”

Derek picked up the living glass fox. Immediately, it took to nuzzling Derek’s soft chin, clambering curiously over the boy’s shoulders. “What are you going to name him?” Derek wondered.

Stiles shrugged. “How about Fox?”

Derek shook his head. For once, his attention was focused entirely on something other than Stiles. He was beautiful with his face scrunched so tightly in concentration, Stiles thought. After nuzzling the glass creature a little longer, Derek smiled.

“Oh,” The Prince stated matter-of-factly. “His name is Bertabus.”

 

_Present-Day_

“He’s all right, thanks to you,” Scott murmured gently. He patted Genim on the arm. Genim ground the palms of his hands into his lids helplessly. He hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before. The Duke’s howls had followed him to bed even after the Duke passed out.

As soon as Genim has pressed the Wolfsbane mixture into the wound, the poisons counteracted each other and gradually burned each other out, along with a healthy helping of the ‘wolf’s open sore, eating away at skin and muscle like acid. With the poison out, however, the Duke began healing so fast he almost didn’t need Genim’s sloppy stitches.

The kingdom was grateful for what Genim did, even if they didn’t quite understand it. Genim had to site with the Princess and the head of the Royal Guard for hours after the affair, teaching them about the dangers and the mythical properties of Wolfsbane, a poisonous flower that could become absolutely deadly to werewolves with the right spell. In such case, only another dose of natural, un-magicked Wolfsbane could counteract the poison. The King and Mage were kept busy, calming the people and checking on the defenses. By sundown, all was well. Genim had saved Duke Peter’s life.

“And we’ll never forget it,” Princess Laura had whispered, cuddling the Duke’s daughters to her body.

But the screams.

“What happened, anyway?”  Genim asked, shaking away Peter’s tortured face. Lucinda – bless her heart – had given Genim the day off and a freshly baked roll as her own silent thank you. Although he hoped to use the day to sleep, Genim couldn’t help wondering.

Scott sat down across from Genim at the servant’s table. He seemed hilariously large perched on the small wooden stool. His faced was scrunched in worry. “The Argents have become more aggressive. Peter and his guards – they went to the Argents to ask them again for a truce. For the first time, they attacked. And Jameson, he…” Scott’s eyes turned hard. “He didn’t make it back.”

The two shared a moment of silence. Jameson was a good knight. He was one of the only humans in a majority ‘wolf Guard, and he held his own.

“One of those monsters,” Scott spat. “Attacked Peter’s guard on their retreat, and Peter tried to use his body to shield him. We’ve never encountered Wolfsbane before – and the King and Mage were holding up a small flood in the Northern farm fields. We had no idea how bad it was. It’s the Black Mage’s miracle you were here.”

Genim shrugged awkwardly, trying to cover up his guilty flinch. A sarcastic voice in his head commented that this was probably the only time he would ever be thanked for stealing from a kingdom.

“It’s even more of a miracle it was a cold day yesterday.” A passing servant commented, slapping Scott’s shoulder cheerfully. Scott’s expression cleared to his usual doggy happiness and he nodded.

“A cold day?” Genim asked. It was cold everyday. It was winter.

“Oh, you don’t know.” Scott said. “The Black Mage created the Moving Woods, like, twenty-something years ago. It only surfaces on cold days to protect the desperate. It’s supposed to stay in the boundaries of the Hale Kingdom, but the damn forest has a mind of its own. I guess it’s no real surprise it appeared outside of the border just long enough for Peter and his guards to escape into.”

Genim hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t remember seeing the Moving Woods on the map Lucinda gave me. Where did you say it was?”

Scott chuckled. “Eh, it won’t show up on any map. It’s always moving. She might have mentioned it to you though – she likes to call them by their old name. The Black Woods.”

It felt like Genim had been hit over the head with a frying pan. Of course. He had heard of the Moving Woods a couple times by other servants, but he hadn’t connected the two until now.

_“The Book is located in a place that never stays the same.”_ Boyd had said.

Genim shot up from his seat and leaned into Scott’s face excitedly. “Scott, is it a cold day today?”

Scott blinked. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Thanks, buddy.” Genim grabbed the knight by the front of his tunic and placed a gross, sloppy kiss on the man’s forehead. Scott grimaced in disgust, hastily wiping on the saliva on his forehead. “I’ll see you later!” Genim called to Lucinda, rushing out the door.

Lucinda waved her hand lazily, used to Genim’s antics.

 

The Woods were warm. It was an odd sort of warmth. It kind of seeped in through one’s bones like a kind word or a hug – very different than the direct, passive heat of an open flame. And Genim couldn’t really describe how alive the Woods felt. The trees had gnarly, cranky visages, but they reached out to him like they were welcoming him home. It didn’t matter how wide the path was, his clothes seemed to get caught on every passing branch, every tickling shrub.

And they _talked._ To each other, unfortunately, because Genim was actually kind of curious to know what they said. But their leaves would chatter and the long trunks would groan, and they all kind of swayed together or against each other like songs. Genim wasn’t sure how long he followed that winding path – or even where it went. He just walked until he became as lost as he possibly could be, and then the path faded away and he was standing on the long green grasses of a summer pasture.

It was still the Woods, Genim knew. It felt different, though. The clearing was a little hilly, and too quiet after hearing the trees talking for so long. Genim felt like he needed to be careful. Like this was preserved land. He walked down a gradual incline to find a small, smooth headstone. Someone was taking care of it, despite the dead grass around its plot. They had left presents too – childish items. A smooth stone. A shell. A rose.

Genim picked up the pearl. “Pretty.” He said before he put it back, respectfully, exactly where he found it. He wouldn’t find the Mage’s book here. Genim turned around and started to walk away but he realized that he couldn’t.

Something was wrong with the Woods. It was tugging at him, hissing and shifting its tree-line like a snake. Confused, Genim retreated from the treeline and stumbled onto the plot of dried grass with a yelp. A howl came from somewhere in the woods.

Shit, he shouldn’t be here.

Genim grabbed onto the headstone to pull himself up and froze. A cold, sharp feeling rushed through his body and overwhelmed him. Suddenly he could see, he could hear, he could _feel_ everything. It was like a direct ley line to Mother Nature, and it forced him to recognize the beating hearts of the worms beneath the earth, the screeching calls of the birds above the trees, and the breaths of every single living being in the Kingdom.

Helplessly, he moved closer, clutching its even stone surface, shivering as the thing washed over him. Behind him, he could hear yells, sounds of a pack who had surely smelled him by now and knew he was there.

“Amora amar si Hale mine,” Genim said.

The barrier shattered. It was impossible not to be aware of it – it shook the ground and snapped the trees, exploding and roaring and screaming shrilly as it died. The collapse swept a tunnel of air over the land. It was all over in a manner of seconds.

 

Genim blinked, drained and disoriented. Belatedly, he realized that King Derek and four ‘wolves, including the Red Mage, stood stock-still behind him. But only one was his concern.

The King was shaking. “What have you done?” He whispered in horror.

The world was moving like molasses but Genim couldn’t see anything but this King, his King. For some reason, Genim was observing the lines in the corners of his eyes, the kiss of grey to his temple, and the pulse of wolf blood beneath his skin. Genim took a step towards him, arms raised as if in apology.

“You have grown well, mine King.” He was smiling when his face hit the ground.


	4. Chapter 4

_Twenty-One Years Ago_

Finally, the Mage stretched his arms above his head. “Alright, mine Prince. Come on.”

“But your work-”

“Don’t you worry, Prince Derek. If I didn’t think my apprentice could handle one simple storm-in-a-bottle, I wouldn’t be paying her,” Stiles declared cheerfully, holding out his hand.

Derek scowled as he took it. “You don’t pay her,” he reminded the Mage.

Stiles grinned and began dragging his werewolf friend outside to the Moving Woods he created two winters earlier. “You know, mine Prince, you take things much too seriously for someone your age,” he commented gayly. He ran into the thickets, calling, “Hide and seek! You’re it!”

“Stiles, no,” the Crown Heir groaned. “You know I hate this game.” Stiles always used magic to disguise his scent and Derek didn’t like not knowing where Stiles was. But what Stiles wanted, he got. So the Prince slouched against the nearest pine tree (a grouchy bugger that started jabbing him with its branches the moment he got close) and counted backwards from ten. At one, Derek called, “Ready or not, here I come!” And stalked off into the woods.

About half an hour into the expedition and the young Prince was ready to crawl out of his skin. He had started yelling forfeit ten minutes ago, but no-one was answering. He began to run off the path, following a line of shallow dents in the earth that might have been footprints, and then a different trail when the first led nowhere. Just as the Prince started to panic, he caught it.

Stiles.

His scent was light and sweet, but the unmistakable air of bubbles and spring-water enticed Derek off the trail. He ran between trees, following the scent desperately, dodging branches and vines. At last, the Crown Heir ran into a familiar clearing. Here, the scent of Stiles was fresh and real, the sound of a beating heart strong nearby. But as Derek took in his surroundings, a very different fear gripped him.

“Stiles?” He called out tentatively.

“In here, Derek,” a tight voice declared. Derek gulped. It was never a good sign when Stiles sounded like that. Derek followed the rapid heartbeat to a small, poorly-built shed just off the edge of the terrain. He paused before he opened the door, glancing at the scratched initials on the crooked doorframe.

“Stiles, I can explain-”

The Mage was sitting cross-legged on the floor amidst a jumble of pens, inks, and papers. Behind him, potion bottles lay smashed against unlit candles and scratched-out sigils.

Two silver armlets on the floor.

The Crown Heir stood at the door, clenching his jaw. Stiles twisted his body to face him, but Derek lowered his gaze. He could smell the turmoil in Stiles: the anger, the hurt, the fear. “Tell me you don’t know this place,” The Mage hissed, scrubbing at wet cheeks with his hand. His knuckles bled where he had struck the glass beakers to the ground. “But of course you do. How else would this,” Stiles held up the broken picture frame with a shaking hand. “Be in here?”

Derek lifted his chin. He wouldn’t apologize for this.

“You told me you understood,” Stiles said quietly. “You promised me you wouldn’t. Did you think I would not find it? These are my woods, Derek.” Stiles sighed and stood up, facing Derek squarely. “This is as good of evidence as any. It is for the best that we… that I take a break, and…”

“No!” Derek didn’t even remember running forward, grabbing his love by the shoulders. “I did it for us,” Derek begged him to see.

“Derek, mine sweet Prince,” Stiles hummed sadly. “These sigils, spells, ingredients- it’s all black magic. Black, black magic. And this… Obsession you have with me. Deaton was right, it isn’t safe.”

Derek didn’t want to hear this. He heard himself chanting, “No, please no, not you, no, no,” and shook his head back and forth.

Stiles tried to keep eye-contact, although they were both crying now. “It’s not permanent. Just for a few years. It will give us both some time to breathe-”

Prince Derek let go of Stiles to put his hands over his ears, but his love took that chance to slip around the Crown Heir and make a run for the door. Watching him, Derek’s human brain knew it was for the best that he let Stiles be.

But Derek was 13 years old, and his wolf took control. His Wolf saw prey and mate and launched itself after him, tackling the human boy to the ground. Then Stiles was under him, and he was saying something, and the air crackled with spring-storm and steam. Stiles was going to leave him, and Wolf knew there was only one way to stop a Mage from his vanishing act.

Wolf grabbed the silver armlets (“black, black magic”) and slipped one on the arm of a struggling boy. Stiles knew what it was the moment he saw them, but he was pinned beneath wolf-Derek’s body, and even now the great Black Mage of the Kingdom Hale would never risk hurting his prince.

“I invoke the spirits of my fathers and your fathers,” the Wolf huffed. “To take my offering and bind my flesh, soul and spirit to the life of another.” The Wolf had to snap his Mage’s leg to keep him still (“Oh goddess, please forgive mine Prince”) and the screams were all of little consequence.

“And by season or by death, I bind his soul and his spirit to my own; through the moon of mine heart.” With a sharp, victorious growl, wolf-Derek clamped the second silver armlet around his love’s arm and sliced a sigil into his flesh. The Mage’s cries were lost as the Wolf forced their lips together, sealing the spell in a deadly, dark spell that blacked out the light.

And then the Wolf ripped out His throat.

 

_Present-Day_

Genim hated prisons, as a general rule, but this was one of the nicest dungeons he had ever been thrown in.

For one, it was cleaner than he was, and only slightly smelled of mildew. For another, torture devices were not laid out threateningly for all the prisoners to see and be intimidated by. Although, Genim suspected the Red Mage did not need tools to intimidate.

“I’m telling you, I didn’t do it,” Genim gritted his teeth. “I fell down on this gravestone, and everything started spinning and the next thing I knew, I was here.”

The Red Mage raised one elegant eyebrow and hummed. They had been at it for hours and that was her usual response. In between every question, she would stop and stare intensely, as if waiting for him to give the right answer. At last, she was distracted when the heavy metal door swung forward to show a fuming King, still dressed in the stately furs and silks Genim last saw him in, and a quietly vicious Princess. Genim gulped.

Before he could say anything, the King strode forward and grabbed Genim by his neck, hard. He leaned in so close that Genim could feel his hot breath on his cheeks. “What are you doing here?” He growled.

Unable to help himself, Genim shrugged and said, “Just thought I’d take a nap.”

Wow. If it was possible for an angry glare to get any hotter, the King made it happen. His eyes glowed red, and suddenly Genim was choking, and the thief dearly missed the stale, moldy air he had taken for granted. The King squeezed his hand a little tighter, letting his sharp wolf claws prick bloody spots into Genim’s neck as an unsubtle threat before he released him. Genim bent over in half, coughing.

“Want to try that again?” The King hissed. The Mage put one small, delicate hand on the King’s upper arm, and the King took a step back. For a moment, Genim deliriously wondered what his arm felt like. Muscle, he supposed. Sexy muscle.

The Mage raised an eyebrow at him like she knew what he was thinking about, but Genim was too exhausted to feel properly embarrassed. “You should tell him the truth,” she said, daintily patting her hair. “It’ll do you good.” Then she flicked her finger, and Genim felt the spell hit him, making him dizzy and unfocused.

“We only wanted the Book,” Genim found himself mumbling. “We know where it is.”

 

Released from the effects of the truth spell, Genim realized what he said. Given the seriousness of the situation, he expected a rolling of the eyes, or another uncomfortable attempt at erotic asphyxia, but not this. All three members of the room were absolutely silent. Helplessly, Genim was drawn to Derek, could only watch as his entire posture changed from menacing to cold and distant like a faraway sight.

“It’s not a myth,” The thief said indignantly, straightening as much as he could. “The Black Mage was a natural mage. He hid his Book in a location that never stays the same, according to the myth, and at first I thought is was some sort of artifact, and then I realized that it was the Black Woods, which is why I was there in the first place. So you see, I never wanted to take down the wall-”

And then Genim was choking again. Distantly, he heard voices, but they were all muddled as Genim’s vision slowly went black.

“Derek,” He heard the Princess command. Genim was released. He coughed up half his stomach and some blood onto the floor. His neck was wet, but not from sweat. The Princess barely gave him a moment to catch his breath before she was up in his face.  Her eyes were the same color as her brother’s.

“The Book does not exist, you hear me? They are a myth. Now you have destroyed this kingdom’s greatest defense, and only the Black Mage can put it back up. Who put you up to this? How did you do it?”

“By accident?” Genim argued weakly. He winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Her response was a solid punch to the diaphragm. Genim keeled over as far as the heavy chains would let him and a crazy part of him chuckled that his insides were not inside anymore. Then the same part of him wondered if having his insides on the outside would change their title. Should his blood and guts be called outsides? Were those his guts on the floor-

The Princess slapped him. He focused on her again. “When the Black Mage was ten years old, he took down three legions of our enemies with a magicked tornado the size of your head,” She hissed, eyes burning. “When the Black Mage was twelve, he single-handedly moved our entire kingdom to one of the most secure lands in the world. Tell me, thief, how could you take down a magicked barrier of his creation by accident?”

Genim glanced at the blood by his feet. There was no right answer to this question and the Royal Hale siblings were clearly set on wrath. Resigning himself to his fate, Genim grinned.

“Is that what I get for knocking on your tree?”

Oh, that did it. Genim closed his eyes, oddly grateful that his last words could be a jibe at royalty when the Red Mage broke in, “Isn’t it obvious?”

She remained impressively unmoved by the Princess and the King in their beastly form. “It’s because he is Stiles. He is the Black Mage.”

The Red Mage was next to approach him, but she was gentle with him, stroking the sweaty, dirty strands of hair out of his eyes and rubbing a light healing spell into his temples. “I wasn’t sure,” she whispered to him. “I must beg your forgiveness, mine Mage, but I had to be sure.”

“Lydia-”

“No, Derek.” The Mage smiled, and Genim was lost in her eyes. She was enchanting. “This is he. Dename amin cze. The Black Mage of the Clawed Throne has returned.”

Wow. The Red Mage was so much more beautiful when she was benevolent. Lydia unlocked his chains, helped him stand, and guided him to the door. The King was stood in their way, his features distorted in a wrathful, monstrous way, his body drawn to its full height. He towered well over the Red Mage and Genim both; his clothes split at the seams where his massive muscles outstretched them.

"Derek,” the Red Mage admonished lightly. “He needs medical attention.”

“He references one old wives’ tale and suddenly he’s my-” Derek seemed to choke on the word. “Mage? A 40 year-old force of nature in a boy’s body?”

“No,” the witch smiled with all of her teeth. They were sharp. “He is mine master. You think I wouldn’t recognize mine Lord after 15 years?”

The King did not move. Genim began to regret his decision to stand.

“Well,” the witch sighed, and she flicked her wrist. Just like that, a gust of wind was conjured out of nowhere, shoving the King aside as if he were as light as a feather. An angry, broiling mad feather. With teeth. And claws. And-

The witch snapped her fingers, and Genim focused on her again. To his surprise, he found himself in a neat, small room, sitting on a soft bed lined with furs. His body felt heavy, as if the soft sheepskin were weighing him down. Genim’s thoughts turned in spite of him to the two Hale siblings, gazing at him with twin looks of fear and betrayal.

They had been so hurt.

 “I don’t forgive them,” Genim groaned. “They know me. How could they think- They know me.”

Lydia stroked his cheek, and Genim closed his eyes.

“They don’t know you.”

 

_Twenty-Two Years Ago_

She pinched his cheek.

“Ow, Lyds!” Stiles scowled, rubbing his cheek. “You know, sometimes I think you forget your place.”

She sniffed delicately and flipped her hair. “Maybe if you didn’t sleep when we were supposed to be making a shipment of Hearthbrew Potions, I wouldn’t have to remind you of yours.”

 

“Rawr, kitty!” Stiles laughed. For an instant, Lydia was caught up in her mentor’s gold eyes, crinkled at the corners by a mischievous grin. “Hey, have I ever told you the story of the Fox and the Lion?”

Lydia scrunched her nose. “Foxes and lions don’t inhabit the same terrain. They would never associate in the first place.”

“It’s a story, Lyds. Just listen,” Stiles huffed.

Lydia crossed her arms in what her mentor called her “legendary judgement pose”. Stiles, as usual, took that as the go ahead.

“The Lion lived a peaceful life in the woods-”

“Lions don’t live in the woods.”

“Shush, dear apprentice. Anyway, the Lion lived a peaceful life in these woods that were magicked so that its inhabitants would never grow hungry, cold, or thirsty. All of the little creatures were happy and peaceful, and the Lion was too. But he was also territorial. So one day, he, being the king of the woods…”

“Of course he is,” Lydia muttered.

“…Being the king of the woods, commanded the Trees to block off any newcomers so that no more creatures could come into his kingdom. The woods’ inhabitants were happy enough at first, but eventually they grew nervous. As much as the Trees blocked outsiders from getting in, none of the woodland creatures could get out. At last, they called upon the Fox from one of the neighboring woods to help. They told the Fox all about the situation, and because the Fox empathized, he agreed to offer his wily services. That very night, when the sun set, the Fox strolled up to the woods and pushed out his chest. He knocked on the trees, one-by-one, ordering them to let him in.

‘If you keep doing that, we’ll never let you in,’ the leader of the Trees snapped. The Fox just laughed and kept on knocking on the Trees until early the next morning, when the Lion finally woke from his rest. So, the Fox went up to the Lion and knocked on one of the trees blocking his territory.

The Lion answered immediately. ‘Who dares to knock on my Tree?’ He roared.”

Stiles roared it out, bumping shoulders with his apprentice teasingly. Lydia’s lips twitched upwards against her will.

“’Your Majesty, it is none other than a loyal Fox, come to pay my respects,’ the Fox replied.

“The Lion King was pleased at that, and invited the Fox into his Woods. But try as they might, the Trees would not let the Fox in, still bitter after a sleepless night of knocking. The Lion roared and he roared, to no avail. In a fit of rage, the Lion tore down those Trees with his bare claws, releasing the woodland creatures from their prison forevermore.”

Lydia stirred Siren Tears into the mixture. “So you’re saying I shouldn’t be a territorial git?”

The Black Mage pressed a kiss to his apprentice’s forehead.

“So I’m saying, who knocked on your Tree?”

 

_Present-Day_

Genim awoke from a strange dream that involved a chicken and some sort of flying parsnip to the sight of a perpetually cheerful face.

“Hey, Sunshine,” Genim said hoarsely.

Sunshine beamed at him. Genim gave her a quick once-over, taking in her clean clothes and straight back. The clothes were not hers, he noted, as they were much too dark and modest. “Are you alright?” He asked more quietly.

Sunshine’s smile faded, but she nodded. “They caught me at the edge of the woods, waiting for you. Boyd is in another room since they only allowed one of us in here at a time. Ah,” she put her hand on his arm before he could sit up. “He is perfectly alright. The only thing hurt was our pride.”

Then she glanced at her clothes. “And possibly our sense of fashion.”

Genim chuckled. Leave it to werewolves to sniff out his two partners-in-crime. They probably did it to confirm his story, Genim realized wryly, although Sunshine didn’t strike him as terribly tortured.

“You really gave us a scare. When we heard you were caught by the Hale’s ‘wolves, we thought you were gone for sure. I was setting up to charge the palace when one of the Royal Guards – Scott, I think? – Brought me here. He told me that if I could support your story, you’d be released.”

Genim smiled teasingly at Sunshine. “Setting up to charge the palace? Do you mean setting up your new bed in my house?”

Sunshine giggled and nuzzled her nose into Genim’s hair. The two relaxed against each other for a moment, relieved to be in each other’s presence. Then Sunshine leaned back. “Genim, there’s something else you should know-”

“Stiles?”

The voice was too little to be Princess Laura’s, but somehow, Genim knew who it was before he saw her.

Princess Cora.

She paused in the doorway, glasses perched on her sharp little nose, a cloud of blonde hair floating around her head. Where the two other Hales were dark and hard by nature, Princess Cora was light and gentle. Genim was struck by a sense of familiarity, and even more strangely, an odd kind of sad awe. His throat felt as if it were ripped raw. “Princess,” he husked, and made to stand.

“No, no, stay put.” Princess Cora smiled at them both. “May I, Lady Erica?”

Sunshine preened a bit at the title, but made no move to leave Genim’s side. Princess Cora nodded at the other girl in understanding. “He is safe with me, my Lady, I assure you. The guards will escort you to your quarters.”

Princess Cora kept silent until she was gone, though her sharp gaze never left Genim.

When the two were alone, the Princess took a seat in a chair by the bed and fiddled with the skirt of her dress. Her voice was very quiet. “Lydia warned me you might not remember me, but a part of me hoped-” The young Hale peeked up at Genim through her lashes. “Do you remember me?”

Genim had to clear his throat before he could reply. “N-no, Princess, I am afraid not.” He took a deep breath. “Forgive me but, the Red Mage is mistaken. My name is Genim, son of Johnathon. I barely know enough magic to clean my sleeping quarters – and Stiles is dead.”

Princess Cora dropped her eyes.

Genim blinked. “Isn’t he?”

Outside, a wolf howled, startling them both. It was night, apparently, which was news to Genim. Distantly, he wondered how long he had been asleep. The Princess made a noise of realization and held up a small silver flask that had been hidden in the folds of her dress. Genim took the gift cautiously. “It’s just water,” the Princess inserted.

Genim sipped. It was clean springwater.

“My goddess,” the Princess whispered. “You even smell like him.” Genim ignored her in favor of gulping down the water as fast as he could swallow. When he finished every last drop, he handed the flask back to her with a sheepish grin. The Princess did not take it.

“Why did you take the wall down, Stiles?”

“Genim,” Genim corrected automatically. “And I didn’t. Or at least I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to find the Book of the Black Mage. There was a gravestone in the woods…”

“But you were the one who put it up,” Cora interrupted, sulking.

Genim sighed. “The Black Mage – your Stiles, he was the one who put up the magic monstrosity. A ghastly foreign relations strategy, by the way, your isolationism.”

Princess Cora giggled, “You sound like him, too.”

“Well I’m not! I’m not him. I’m a nobody from two realms away. I steal for a living, perform tawdry tricks for my next meal.” Genim sighed. “I don’t even know what the wall was for in the first place.”

Princess Cora blinked at him a couple times, the round spectacles making her large eyes seem even larger. “Okay,” She said slowly. She sounded as if she were humoring him. “You built it to protect us from the Argents.”

The moment she said it, Genim knew. “Argents,” he whispered, feeling the blood drain from his face. He shook his head. “Why are the Argents still after you? I mean, this Kingdom has been locked away for two decades.”

“Nineteen-and-a-half years, to be exact,” the Princess recited.

“What happened?”

“They attacked,” Cora said simply. “And you built a wall to keep them out. But it worked so well that you just left it up, and before you could take it back down-”

“I died,” Genim murmured. He scowled at the slip. “Stiles died. The Black Mage, he died. I am very much alive. And I’m only 19 years old. A tad too young to be building walls, don’t you think? Or is King Derek not the only toddler you have ruling your kingdom?”

For a moment, Genim worried he had gone too far, but Princess Cora just laughed. “He does act like a child, doesn’t he?” Then she sobered. “But Stiles, even if you don’t remember, the Red Mage does, and she is never wrong. Oh, uh, she gave me this-” She handed Genim a small, simple book with leather binding and a wide cursive ‘S’ engraved on the cover. “-to give to you. She asked me to tell you that it’s the only book in her library she hasn’t read, and you would know what it means.”

Genim didn’t know what that meant, but he took the book anyway. It was too heavy for how light it manifested, and it was too rough for the seemingly smooth black leather cover. With a shy smile, Princess Cora stood up as if to leave, murmuring excuses about letting him rest. Genim stopped her before she could run off, observing at the book in his hands. “Why didn’t the Red Mage give this to me herself?”

Princess Cora’s eyes widened. “You don’t know,” she breathed.

Genim set the book down. “What knowledge am I lacking, sweet one?”

The immediate reaction was strange, to say the least. The Princess jumped like she had been slapped in the face. She covered her mouth, choking back tears. “Stiles, you-” She glanced away. “You always used to say that when you knew I was hiding something.

“Oh Stiles, the Red Mage is with the Royal Army, preparing. The Argents caught wind of the news about the barrier, and they have returned to steal our land. It’s terrible, Stiles.”

 

Genim's jaw fell open. He barely felt it when Princess Cora wrapped her thin arms around him, crying. “20 years and nothing has changed. We are at war again.”

 

_Twenty-One Years Ago_

“Derek, it’s fine,” Stiles husked. “No one was hurt.”

Except you, Derek thought. He glowered at the bouquet of wilted flowers in his hands.

“Hey,” Stiles grabbed his chin and lifted it so their eyes met. “Hey, now,” Stiles said, voice soft. The stark white bandages wrapped around his throat glowed faintly with healing runes, casting his thin face in a pale, strange light. “Everything will be all right. Hush, mine Prince.”

Derek sniffled.

Stiles chuckled wryly. “Damn, and we had just started speaking to each other again.”

They both stopped for a moment, unsure of what to say next. The gentle breeze from the open window tickled Derek’s face, making his nose itch. He wiggled it. Stiles smiled fondly at his love’s humorous expression, and his eyes twinkled. It was the eyes that caught him first, Derek remembered darkly, before he ruined it all by almost killing his love.

“Stop, Derek.”

Derek studied his shoes, expressionless.

Stiles’ pretty mouth made a firm line – betrayed by the faintest upward curve. “We were mates before the spell and I did not tell you. That is no-one’s fault but my own. The spell, for all that it barely worked, simply amplified our bond… And you know what that means.”

Derek smiled hopefully as Stiles pressed a sweet, loving kiss to his prince’s wrist. “We are much harder to kill.”

 

 

By the Red Mage’s crystal ball, the army was fast approaching.

“They are weary,” she said.

“Haggard,” agreed Princess Laura, peering at the dusty figures in the foresight glass. But a sideways glance at Derek confirmed what they both already knew – the enemy had the advantage.

The Kingdom of Hale had grown lazy in the last decades when the people realized that only a chosen few could pass through the magicked walls. The Hale soldiers, though well-studied in the art of war, had never known true sacrifice or pain. An entire generation came and went without experiencing battle. To go to war now would be suicide.

 

Scott tapped his finger on a map of the kingdom grounds. “Most of the wall still stands here, and here. Your majesties, if we can focus our energies on the Southern wall with newer soldiers to the North and East wing, we can hold the attack long enough to get the women and children through the Northern pass.”

“The Woods.” Duke Peter circled the Northern pass with his finger. “I only saw it there yesterday. Surely, it should provide us cover today as well in our time of need.”

King Derek rubbed his chin with his hand. Twenty years of peace, and his kingdom was to be wiped out by an Argent Army in a fortnight. But if it came down to a castle or his people… Derek nodded. “Give the command,” he ordered.

The knights bowed, eyes sharp, before they left with the other officers. Princess Laura put her hand on the king’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “Hey,” she said gently. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, we have no choice.” Derek said.

“We have magic,” Laura said. Derek peered at his sister, knowing it was a bleak promise. The Red Mage did not specialize in fighting magic. That was always the Black Mage’s–

“I trust Lydia with our lives, Derek. You should trust her too. If she says Genim is the Black Mage, reincarnate…”

“The Black Mage is dead, Laura,” Derek growled. He let go of her hand, ran a claw over the magicked crystal ball.

“Stiles was always the clever one.” Laura contemplated. “ And our mage is never wrong. He might have done something… Something to save himself, or preserve himself– ”

“Stop it, Laura.”

“-or resurrect himself. Stiles was always so… Cunning, he must have-”

“Laura, please.”

“No!” Laura screamed, swiping an arm across the crystal ball, sending it crashing to the floor. The globe cast a soft glow that flickered several times before it went dark, throwing the already-dim room into blackness. Laura was breathing heavily. “No, Derek. You do not get to throw this kingdom away like you did your life.” Her eyes gleamed red. “I have children, your _majesty_ , and if they are anything like you, they will grow up strong, and kind, and supported in a goddamn home with our goddamn people! Listen to me, brother, the Black Mage has returned! Now get your head out of your ass and-”

“I FELT HIM DIE!” Derek roared.

The two Crown Heirs watched each other. Derek closed his eyes. “I-I’m so sorry, Laura. I was so young, and so stupid.”

Laura’s hand was shaking as she brought it to cover her mouth. She knew even before she asked, “Derek, what did you do?”

“I just wanted us to be together forever. I just wanted- I cast a spell. A mating spell.”

“That’s black magic, Derek.” Laura’s eyes were wild. “You should be dead.”

Derek collapsed into the chair, smiling humorlessly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Laura whispered.

“I, uh,” Derek gave an ugly laugh. “I was 13, you know? I had felt our mate-bond pulling me to him since the moment we met. We were meant to be, I knew, but he didn’t want it. Didn’t want me, I thought. I didn’t care if a bonded pair would die at the same time, I just wanted to give him everything I was so that we could be together, forever.

“And then one day an evil witch was hunted down and expelled from the kingdom by Father’s Guards. Well, she had a book. On her nightstand. So all those nights you thought I was hunting I would go deep into the Black Woods and practice these spells from that book, gather ingredients, study and prepare.

“I needed to force the mate-bond. For him, I thought. For Stiles.

“I cast the spell wrong. I didn’t know how much power he had – how resistant his magic was. It started draining my lifeblood. And the Black Mage- Stiles, he was just lying there, watching me die with his own throat slashed, and the idiot saved me. Mother and Father swore us to secrecy. It would ‘ruin the royal reputation’.”

Laura had her back against the wall, one hand over her mouth, the other outstretched. She couldn’t decide whether to spurn her brother or comfort him.

Derek gazed up at her beseechingly. “I wanted to give him my strength, like a real mate. Laura, please. You understand? I wanted to save him. I didn’t- I couldn’t know. And then when he-” Derek choked. “I felt every inch of death seep into his bones, taking him from me. I thought I was dying. I wished I was.”

Derek rubbed the healing wounds where his claws had dug into the flesh of his palms. “He’s dead, Laura. I felt him die.”

Laura rushed at him, throwing her arms around him in a warm embrace. _I still love you,_ she let her body language scream. Derek put his head on his sister’s chest, letting her hold him for the first time in a long time. The princess stroked her brother’s hair, listening to him breathe. At last, she leaned back. With her hands gentle on the king’s shoulders, Laura said, “Are you sure?”

Derek frowned and opened his mouth to retort, but the door slammed open.

“Your majesties!” The knight called. “It has begun!”

The two launched into action.

 

_Twenty-One Years Ago_

“Ever since then, I had this crazy, irrational fear of fires. You found out about it when I burst into tears because my uncle asked me to fetch wood for the hearth, but I couldn’t stand coming that close to the flames.

I’ll never forget what you said that day. I expected you to make fun of me, the way you usually do, you know? But instead, you just took my hand and marched me right out the door. You took me to this old abandoned garden just outside the castle walls, and you said to me, “What kind of King needs a fire to keep warm, anyway?”

Then you waved your hands and grew a tree that was warmer than a summer’s day. A week later, you had to go back to talk to the spirits of those trees because they had grown into a whole Forest and they wouldn’t stop moving.”

Stiles and Derek shared their laughter, remembering Stiles’s face all those years ago, bright red in anger as he yelled at a bunch of trees.

 

_Present-Day_

Genim heard the horn of war. It was the same in every kingdom.

He glared. “It’s your fault, you know,” He told the spirit of Stiles he was pretending was the leather-bound novelette in his hands. “All I wanted was a little shiny from a legendary kingdom. But, oh no, of course you couldn’t be a normal kingdom legend. You had to be an all-powerful, wall-building, foreign-strategy-ignoring, Argent-threatening legend. Who apparently resurrects himself after twenty years.”

Genim glanced down at his bony chest. “Who apparently resurrects himself in me.”

He glowered. “I did not mean to say it like that.”

This was it. This was all he had been searching for. The great, godly Black Mage of the Clawed Throne’s personal journal – a gold-mine for any natural mage. So why did he feel so… Unfinished?

“And!” Genim declared, remembering another reason he was angry at the stupid book. “And you couldn’t just tell everyone what was going on. Oh no, you had to put your thoughts in this godforbidden book, because apparently, you didn’t care that the people who need to read it need to open it! I mean, honestly, you locked a book?”

 

Genim shook the book with both hands and then stopped because it was actually much heavier than it looked. He sighed. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I hope you realize that saving your precious kingdom would be much easier if all I had to do was say Open Sesame.”

With a click, the book glowed briefly, and then slowly opened itself. A thin red ribbon pulled itself out of the pages, flipping to the very first page. Genim stared.

“Really?” He chuckled. “Well, at least the Black Mage has a sense of humor.” Genim turned to the first page.

 _I don’t suppose you’d care who I am if I were nobody. And in fact, for a_  
long time, that is exactly who I was. But then I met mine Prince, and my cold  
world was changed forever...

 

 

**Day 1**

The King of Hale roared at the sky as the sun began to set.

Day one complete, and the fighting continues. Already, the far gardens of the Southern walls had been taken, and the bloodshed had been great. It was evident that for all the advantages wolf blood gave the Hale army, the Argents were more practiced in combat with the supernatural. They came armed with all manner of foreign, magicked items. Many of the strong and the young had fallen.

Derek had called for all eligible men and women – trained or barely trained – to come to the capitol at first light. With fewer than 2,000 trained wolves against a larger army, morale was very low. Although Princess Laura managed to evacuate the villages and capitol inhabitants that were in the path of the Argents, many of the slower citizens – seniors, children and humans – had yet to make their way to the northern pass. At this rate, the Argents would catch up with his people before they had escaped the grounds. Even worse, the infamous Black Forest was nowhere to be seen. A strange summer wind had stolen its way into the kingdom, and as everyone knows, the Forest only shows itself on cold days.

Duke Peter, out of desperation, begged the King to allow him to ask the Argents for truce – a plea to stop this madness at any cost. He was escorted by just one guard in a show of good faith.

When he returned, he had been beaten badly, and his guard did not fare much better. The Red Mage tsked as she healed them, hiding her concern behind her chastising.

“What do they want?” Derek demanded to know.

Peter laughed out of the side of his mouth that wasn’t bleeding.

 Nothing. The Argents did not want the kingdom. They did not want the riches. They did not want the people. They wanted every supernatural being to perish in a sacrifice to their God – a religious belief they had pursued twenty years ago.

The King rose before his beaten, downtrodden army and begged them to stand before the sun and fight for their people. His men cheered.

 

**Day 4**

The Hales lost three-hundred more wolves, and even more ground. Wolves would swipe with their sharpened claws and roar with their sharpened teeth, and the enemy would use a silver sword to bring them down in one blow. Wolves, healthy and fit from years of rich eating and steady education, were quickly falling to a group of angry men who had decades of hatred and in their hearts.

“You idiot,” Duke Peter growled. “Put me in the fight! I have more experience than all you lot.”

The King held his head high. “Your children…”

“Do you have no notion of the wolves you’ve sent into battle? Every single one of them have children. Many of them are children!” Peter hardly ever raised his voice, but his Majesty had kept him from the fight too long.

“Uncle Peter.”

The men in the chamber stood as Princess Laura entered, like a Queen, her back straight and in command. “You are our best diplomat. Take four guards, ride to the east. Semikit is our closest ally. God willing, they will help us now.”

Peter bowed out of the room without further comment. Laura turned to the Red Mage. Lydia had fallen to the dark corner of the room, her hair masking her expression. “Red Mage, find out where our spy is and what she’s learned. Then provide support to the Southern troops. Your apprentice will need to leave the Eastern force and travel to the civilians in the North. Without the Black Woods, they are our priority.”

“And your majesty,” Laura directed, turning to her brother. Derek stood at attention. “Tomorrow, I will join the Eastern force.”

Her lips turned up, gentle, and then she left the way she came in – every bit the Queen that could have been.

 

**Day 6**

Princess Laura entered the fight. Before the sun rose, she used the Red Mage’s magicked looking glass to tell her pack what she knew. The Red Mage and her had been working together to understand the enemy. They sent a small team of scouts – led by an unknown new civilian who goes by “Sunshine”, to sneak into enemy territory and record their magic. Not only does the team pick up three scrolls of recorded magic, but they also manage to defeat one of the enemy witches.

“Strike low and from the side,” Laura instructed. “Use your teeth, not your claws. Keep your arms and legs in defense, and work together. You are our pack! Act like one. Forget your training, because this is not a school anymore.” The princess gazed at her wolves through the glass, strong and proud.

“I have children. I have three sweet, beautiful children and you are their heroes. Soldiers of Hale, if my children grow up to be anything like you, they will grow up to be strong, and brave, and supported in a goddamn home with our goddamn people. Listen to me, wolves of Hale, men of the mountains, knights of the supernatural – we will not stop until every last Argent has seen their last moon in the kingdom of Hale!”

They do not win that day, but they keep their ground.

 

**Day 7**

An injured Argent quivered, surrounded by three wolves. She resembled youth and sweetness with her long brown hair and a gentle face, but she held her broken crossbow like a sword and wielded it agilely. The Hale wolves closed in on her, snapping their jaws, every bit the hungry monsters she imagined.

The largest one – as big as her horse and bleeding from an arrow to the ribs – launched himself  at her suddenly. With scarcely enough time to react, the Argent soldier swiped her crossbow madly in the wolf’s direction. It dodged her easily and grabbed hold of her armor, managing to pierce the chest plate.

Then a young man without armor appeared. He made an imperceptible sound, but instantly the wolves backed off, running back into the field. He presented himself as Captain Scott of the Hale Army, and to the soldier’s surprise, he had come to take her prisoner. Alive.

He bound her wrists well and retrieved her broken crossbow, and then led her to an internment camp. It’s a slow walk, since his prisoner is human, but he took his time, even handing her a flask with water on the way.

“Thank you,” the woman whispered suspiciously. She took a sip.

Sir Scott shrugged.  “We’re not animals,” He said.

Many soldiers loyal to the Argents committed suicide before they’re interrogated, but the mysterious woman didn’t seem to share their thinking. Sir Scott learned that the prisoner’s name is Allison, and that her smile is warm.

Within the day, the Kingdom of Hale began to gain ground again. The Semikit kingdom agreed to support the Hale soldiers with magic users and a thousand of their own men, thanks to Duke Peter’s efforts. Together, human and wolf soldiers alike took back the edge of the capitol’s territory. In the Northern Pass a winter chill picked up, and the Woods reappeared. A few members of the Hale Guard guided citizens into the Woods warm embrace, and at the very least, they are protected.

 

**Day 10**

The Semikit allies were strong, but the Argent’s had allies as well. A fellow extremist militia under Deucalion’s thumb joined Argent leader, Gerard, and launched a terrifying assault from the South and the East.

Deucalion’s militia was brutal and unforgiving – even more so than the Argent soldiers, several of whom later revealed to be loyal to Gerard’s son, Chris, and reluctant in the war against wolves.

“Gerard is mad, but Deucalion is madder,” An Argent warned. “You must run.” True to his word, the Deucalion men ripped wolves apart with foreign explosive magic and tormented survivors with wolfbane poisons.

In a fit of rage, the Red Mage threw a fire spell at cruel militia leader, burning out his eyes. Deucalion screamed curses at her, forced to retreat behind the safety of his troops. In return, Deucalion’s Mage, Morell, casts a curse at the red-headed witch, causing her to fall.

By noon, the Kingdom of Hale has lost the South wing.

Many more wolves died.

 

**Day 11**

Princess Laura’s upper body lay quiet in the King’s arms. “It was supposed to be you,” Derek sobbed. “I was never the Alpha.”

“Oh Der-bear,” Laura smiled. “You were always the Alpha.”

She kept her focus on the vast, blue sky. “I’ll say hi to mom and dad for you, shall I?”

When she closed her eyes, Derek howled.


	5. Chapter 5

_Twenty Years Ago_

At first, it was a thick spiral of smoke, dust and debris. It swirled like a top – quickly at first, and then slower, and slower. The cloud turned black with the density of the debris until at last, the cloud disappeared, and only a young man remained.

He smelled like power, in an odd way. It had a kind of lightness to it that was at odds with the thick aroma of manure from the farmer’s fields. It smelled like water – no, perhaps a spring. Like fresh rainfall, and bubbles. But besides that, the man was very ordinary.

As the young warlock stepped closer, the farmer noted his black cloak and his golden eyes, dark with purpose. The farmer grew pale.

“You said you would leave us alone,” the man begged, standing in his way. The farmer was rich in nothing but heart and happiness, and he knew the warlock had come to take the last bit of wealth he owned. The warlock did not stop walking until he was less than an inch from the farmer, standing nose-to-nose. He stared hard into the farmer’s eyes until the man had to glance away.

“Please,” the farmer said, quietly. “He is our boy. Our son.”

“Johnathon Stilinski. We had a deal.”

“The deal has changed!” The farmer cried, backing away and throwing up his arms. “You, you gave us the chance to have a child and we are forever grateful, but his is not a life on loan! Take mine! Please! Do not take him away – he is all we have in the world!”

The warlock showed no sign of empathy. A spiral of smoke, dust and stone had begun swirl non-too-gently around the farmer’s feet, and although the warlock made no motion, the farmer knew he had caused it. “I admire your bravery, Sir Stilinski, but this is not a negotiation. I will take whatever lives I must to reach the boy.” The warlock’s voice was cold and distant.

From just beyond the field, a door slammed shut, demanding the warlock and the farmer’s attention. They both glanced up in time to see the edge of a skirt as it flew behind the house and disappeared. The mage hissed, “She took the boy.”

The farmer launched himself at the young mage in desperation, slamming his fist into the man’s solar plexus, causing him to double over from the pain. Another punch clipped the warlock on his ear as he fell to the ground, but the mage grabbed the farmer’s leg and knocked him down before he could follow his fleeing wife and son. The farmer brought another fist down to strike the warlock but he found his arm held back by a vine from one of his crops which seemed to have doubled in size and returned with a vengeance. It clung to him, twisting around his arm until his hand grew pale from lack of blood. When the farmer tried to kick, another vine slipped around his legs and curled tight like a hungry snake.

Constrained in all but his left hand, the farmer reached for the mage, screaming hopelessly, “Take mine! Take mine!”

The mage did not have time to apologize. He was running out of strength. Even as he spoke, his magic was being consumed by the wall he had created to keep Gerard Argent and his insane, bigoted army out of Hale territory. With a quick spell, the Black Mage materialized in front of the farmer’s wife and son.

The two had taken refuge in dark, wooden cellar. A symbol had been hastily painted on the doors and window in blood. Despite himself, the mage gazed at them in interest. “You have magic, Claudia Stilinski? Oh, not just any magic, I see. Blood magic.”

The woman clutched her eight-month-old baby to her chest. Tears streamed down her face. She knew she was not as strong as the mage but she had bound herself to the magic guards. Each symbol was painted in her blood, and so it fed off of her life-force to remain strong. If the woman were to faint, the symbols would weaken enough for the mage to reach the boy. However, the opposite was also true.

If the symbols were to be weakened or removed by a stronger mage, so too would the caster’s life-force cease to exist.

The Black Mage had no choice. He had his own love to protect. Carefully, he gathered his offensive magic into his palm so that it sat like a small black cloud. Then he raised his hand to his lips and blew into the smoke so it would drift in the right direction. As it reached the first symbol on the window outside the woman’s barrier, the Black Mage fell to his knees. It wouldn’t be long now.

The screaming started, then. The farmer’s wife had released the boy in favor of grabbing onto her own head and crying for the pain to stop. The smoke was like acid, eating away at the symbol and the woman’s life-force. The squalling baby clutched at his mother, confused and in tears.

“I’m so sorry,” The Black Mage said.

The screaming gave way to pleading, and then to empty apologies, and then it was over. The Black Mage could not feel his legs. He opened the cellar door and stepped over the lifeless body of the farmer’s wife.

“I need your body, little one,” the Black Mage said to the farmer’s son. “My body is dying; you see… And I cannot die yet. It is my turn to be Genim Stilinski now.”

_Present-Day_

King Hale’s reign had come to an end. Of that, he was certain.

A black sky invited the earth to sleep, but too many wolves slept eternal for the living to find peace. The women, children and elderly had made it to the Black Forest and were safely hidden in the mythical mists. The wolves who remained, fought, but King Hale himself saw no hope. Again, he considered surrender.

“My kingdom would kill you, and all of your wolves,” captured Allison Argent explained. Her mouth was pursed in a tight line. She did not agree with her grandfather’s war, although she would fight to protect her people. “King Hale, you should take your wolves and run. But do not surrender. You will die.”

Sir Scott shook his head. “With all due respect, Lady Argent, the Hale wolves do not run away.”

“This is not about pride,” King Hale asserted. His eyes were sad as he tapped the map. Already, half the kingdom was surrendered, and more than half of the Hale wolves had lost their lives to battle. Including Princess Laura. The King’s heart ached for Laura’s family – her human husband, her three ‘wolf children.

 The Argent troops, having seriously underestimated the enemy, were also diminished. But those soldiers were experienced, and angry, and hateful – for rationale unknown to King Hale and his wolves. They had more magic as well, underscoring their clear advantage.

“We can split our packs here, and here.” Sir Scott directed, pointing at the North and East wings. “We’ll surround them.”

“My father will predict that,” Allison countered. “I want this war to end as much as you do, and that path will lead to much more bloodshed.”

King Hale scowled. “Why is she here, again?”

The Argent soldier crossed her arms over her chest. “I am trying to help you find the most peaceful way out of this, since your efforts to use me as a bargaining chip failed.”

Sir Scott smiled.

“What do you suggest, then?” King Hale reasoned. “We run? Leave our families stranded and unprotected in a forest that disappears and reappears like mist on a mountain, without food or shelter? Surrender our freedom and our security to a people who would sacrifice an entire species to an unknown entity above the sky?”

Allison scoffed. “We attacked because you were an abomination to the natural order under God’s name. You are humans that behave as animals – suckling your young out in the open, sprouting furs and claws from your flesh. You are beasts.”

Scott bristled prepared to respond, but his friend put a placating hand on his arm.

“Our culture may seem barbaric to you, but for us, it is natural. Our mothers feed our young in public because our young are hungry. We change into wolves because it is easier to hunt. And remember, Lady Allison,” the King said gently. He leaned in close. “When you came into our home and threatened our families, it was us who offered peace. Pray tell, who are the real beasts?”

Lady Argent, for once, was speechless. Something clicked in her eyes, and the two wolves recognized it. Regret.

When dawn came, the King of a kingdom of wolves called his pack to gather their strength for the final battle. His people were well-fed. Educated. Wolves. They fought for each other and for their home. They had proven themselves to be quick learners on the dangerous learning curve of battle. They may not win this war, but they would fight.

But Before the sun rose on the morning of the Hale wolves’ last stand, Sir Scott came to the King with a grave expression. “King Argent,” the knight reported. “He wishes to meet with you to discuss a truce.”

A truce? They no longer wished to fight? Derek fought the sense of relief that threatened to consume him for the first time in three weeks. The wolves closest to him stirred restlessly, glancing at him with dark eyes. They didn’t dare feel too hopeful, either.

“My King,” Sir Scott warned in a low voice. “They may lack resources and troops, but they are still stronger than we are. They are also led by their god-of-the-sky, and to them, we are abomination. We have no means to trust them.”

“I know.” But only half of their knights remained and their people could not hide in the Woods forever. As much as Derek wanted to avenge his sister, he needed to do all he could to protect his people. “When does he want to meet?”

“He calls for you at dawn, my King. He asks that you bring no wolves, as a gesture of faith.”

“No-one?” Derek and Scott turned in surprise to see Princess Argent walking up to them. She had long since traded in her fighting robes for a traditional linen cloth as the Hale people wore. While she was technically the enemy, she had proven herself a valuable medic, and she had sworn her loyalty to the Hales until her father and grandfather ‘pulled their heads out of their asses.’

“My father would never force you to come alone to a truce. A truce needs witnesses,” the Princess said.

“I’m sure it is not your father who sent the message,” the Red Mage remarked from the shadows behind the Princess. The two had become fast friends since the princess saved Mage Lydia from an arrow to the heart. “But he only asked that you bring no wolves. I will accompany you,” she said, bowing her head.

Derek hesitated. “With all due respect, Red Mage,” Sir Scott jumped in. “You are still in recovery. If negotiations fail, the King will need a show of strength.”

Before the Red Mage could be offended, Allison offered her support as well.

“It would help to have an Argent on your side,” She said.

And so it was decided.

The meeting was to take place on a hill in the trenches just beyond the bloody field where the Argents and the Hales fought the day before. By dawn, the wolves were awake and pacing nervously. Many doubted the truce that came out of the blue, and they were not alone. King Hale wore the magicked armor the Red Mage had prepared for him, and the Red Mage and Princess Allison were heavily spelled for protection as well.

The sun’s heat did not reach them that morning, and Allison shivered in the uncomfortable cold.

“Here, Princess.” Sir Scott tucked a heat charm into the princess’s hand. He smiled. “Humans feel the cold more than we do.”

King Derek rolled his eyes at the gooey glances the Captain and Princess exchanged. Young love.

The Red Mage walked up to King Derek slowly, her beautiful eyes serious. She still walked with an odd limp, but the King had no doubt she was like an injured wolf protecting her den. Twice the beast, with more ferocity than pain. “This smells off,” Lydia hummed. King Derek agreed, but they were painted into a corner.

Together, the three walked away from the safety of the wolves.

The climb was short. Grass from the overgrown pastures brushed the Mage’s skirts, but otherwise, even the wind did not slow their hike. In less than ten minutes, the three reached the top of the hill and waited for the Argents to approach. From their vantage point, the Argent camp was just as obvious as the wolves’, while both lands were barely out of reach of the farthest flown Argent arrows.

King Hale was the first to see them. A man with blond hair and Allison’s eyes came into view, followed by one other mage shrouded in a dark cloak. They approached very slowly, as only humans could. This circumstance was highly unusual in such a war.

And yet, familiar.

Twenty years ago, Queen Talia had walked to the peak of a hill just like this one, accompanied by her right-hand knight, a human, and the great Black Mage. The trio made a fearsome group. Even alone on the hill, preparing for a truce, they were a force of nature. They waited without armor, without protection, so confident in their warriors and in their magic that no man could touch them.

Derek was just a Prince back then, barely a spectator. He and his kingdom watched in shock as his strong, beautiful mother suddenly fell to the ground, struck down by an arrow of the army that had declared the truce. Even the Black Mage stood for too many long moments, shaken, and then furious.  Roaring, Stiles single-handedly took on the entire Argent army of ten-thousand men and hundreds of mages.

In less than a minute, over half of the ten-thousand humans had vanished into thin air. The rest simply turned tail and ran.

And then Stiles turned around. His expression was unforgettable. Derek had never seen this – this rage, this poisonous loathing and loss. The Black Mage raised his hands to the sky over his Queen’s fallen body. He was sweating and crying, and there was immeasurable hurt in his gaze as he shouted into the cold, stormy sky. At his command, his power pushed over the kingdom and a wall rose from the earth like the soft curve of a glass ball.

Then he was gone. And Derek felt the break in his heart, the tear in his soul. It was like some-one flayed him and boiled him alive. Stiles was…

King Hale shook it off. He was not that scared, lost little boy anymore. He had no time to hide as he stood on this hill, waiting to make a deal with the devil.

 

_Yesterday Morning – Somewhere in the Black Forest_

The memories came back to Stiles slower than he had hoped when he started this journal twenty-three years ago. Probably because of his abhorrent penmanship.

Stiles stretched his wrist. It was so much smaller now, in this boy’s body. His hand-writing had improved, at least. So had his hand-eye coordination. It was kind of like getting double the skills, in a way. If Stiles hadn’t had to murder two innocents in cold blood to reincarnate himself, he might not have minded the second chance at life.

Oh.

Stiles had almost forgotten that now, he was also Genim. His memories were slapped together haphazardly in his head – two for every year since he was born. Two mothers. Two fathers – or one father, Stiles supposed, since his first father was a drunk bastard who disappeared from his life. John was a good father, though.

_I didn’t choose John Stilinski on purpose as a father, having never known a good one myself. I just thought he had kind soldier eyes – a bit like mine Prince’s. And it’s just in case, you know. I don’t expect there would ever be a force great enough to make me lose my life to this land._

And it made sense that his magic would choose now to make a reappearance. He had no doubt that what drew him to Boyd was exactly what drew Boyd to the Black Book, his book, in the first place.  Magic was a funny thing.

The glass fox hopped on his shoulder and nuzzled his cheek. “Bertabus,” Stiles hummed happily. “I’m surprised I forgot you. You were my favorite mistake, once upon a time.”

Outside, the surviving pack had set up camp and were hustling about, trying to find food and shelter. The humans had been teaching wolves how to live off of berries and rations since the same magic that protected the Woods against violent intruders also prevented hunting on its grounds. Stiles had never intended the Woods to be a permanent habitat.

Isaac, one of the few defenders of the pack, had his hands full. By Stiles’s calculations, there were fewer than half of their troops left – but there couldn’t be many of Argent’s forces, either.  

Stiles stretched his arms above his head. My gods. He was so thin in this body. It was strange, considering he was the same age as when he died. Or not so strange. All magic users know that magic is the uncontrollable, tangible nature that takes a certain strength to maneuver. Stiles’s first body was brought into a High Mage position soon after he overthrew the first corrupt High Mage, a dark-magic-using witch named Morris, and he had to strengthen it quickly to adapt the amount of power he would control. He was ten years old when he banished Morris.

This body belonged to a trickster and a thief more than it belonged to a mage; Stiles doubted it would be building a great magical barrier anytime soon. It was weak. Even with Stiles’s great power – strengthened all the more by his dual memories and deep knowledge – the physical limitations wouldn’t allow Stiles to do much more than a few measly spells.

Even so… Stiles smirked at the thin silver bracelets wrapped around his wrists. They were magical and physical bindings, meant to subdue a suspicious person without treating them like a prisoner. Lydia’s design, judging by their subtle nature. Drawing on his magic, Stiles rubbed his wrists together. The silver bracelets reacted instantly, fizzing and hissing, and then dropping away into little melted pools on the dirt floor.

The former Black Mage winced as they dropped to the ground. Ouch. He supposed his magic was returning to him slower than his memories – he was still severely limited to the strength and power of Genim, his other self. His former self?

“Please, my baby,” A woman begged outside of Stiles’s tent. “She needs milk, please.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” That was Isaac. He sounded distressed. “We have farmers bringing us supplies, but most of them are going to the soldiers. There isn’t any milk left.” There were hushing noises, and sobbing.

Stiles’s brow creased. No milk? How could they run out of supplies so fast? Stiles grabbed his thin servant’s coat from the end of the bed and slipped out of the tent flap, blending easily into the busy mass. He grabbed a couple of buckets filled with water, pretending to move them along, his head tucked into his high collar.

Stiles found Isaac quickly, not too far from his tent. His blonde hair was matted with sweat and dirt against his scalp. He was noticeably exhausted. Stiles realized he must appear similarly disheveled – he could barely recount his journey into the Black Woods, bound and subdued by Lydia’s silver bindings. But the woman… Stiles crept closer for another glimpse.

She was obviously a wolf. Her eyes kept flashing Beta’s blue. Her baby was wrapped tightly in her arms, but from the size of the pup, it was a little over two weeks old. A baby boy.

_I didn’t choose John Stilinski on purpose as a father, having never known a good one myself._

Oh Gods.

_“Please,” the farmer said, quietly. “He is our boy. Our son.”_

Stiles didn’t register the buckets of water as they fell in a pool around his feet. He clutched his head against the sudden onslaught of memories, but they were vengeful, and they threw themselves against his skull like a drum.

_The woman clutched her eight-month-old baby to her chest. Tears streamed down her face._

The splash had caught the attention of one of Isaac’s guards. He was squinting this way. Gritting his teeth, Stiles pulled himself behind a young man pushing a cart of supplies. He kept his face turned, hoping his speeding heartbeat wouldn’t give himself away. All the while, his memories tormented him, not even related to the woman anymore.

_“You were a little ball of energy, my boy,” his father would chuckle. “We knew you would be a mage the moment you were born._

At last, far enough away, Stiles stole along the off the path, in between the trees of the Moving Woods. Some of the trees recognized the spirit of their master and called to him in their whistling way. Stiles stumbled along, muttering to himself.  A few of the younger saplings got carried away, knotted their branches into his clothes in their eagerness to touch him, tore at his clothing. By the time the Mage got to the clearing, he was shaking, clothes torn and skin bleeding.

“Shut up, shut up,” he begged. But it was only right he loses himself to madness. It was what he deserved. He collapsed on the hill, suddenly feeling drained and worthless. Stiles’s hand brushed something smooth and cold. When he checked his hand, a faceless headstone stared back at him. Mine Prince, he wondered madly. Where is mine Prince?

_“You can make him forget,” the Queen suggested hopelessly. “You can ask him to stop. The point is, my love, it has to be you. Because if you don’t convince him that you’re not really mates-”_

In the distance, there was a howl. It was loud and long, and all of the kingdom recognized it for what it was. The mourning of an Alpha. Just like that, Stiles snapped back to himself. The memories still pulsed against his skull, but in the background. Stiles recognized that no matter what he had done, no matter how dearly he hated himself for it, Stiles had been brought back to the Kingdom Hale with a purpose. To serve and protect his Alpha.

It was just past noon, and the Argents had just made a huge victory, judging by Alpha Wolf’s howl. Stiles couldn’t pause to wonder what they had done. Surely, if Stiles were a racist, supremacist, bigoted old general, he would take advantage of the victory to circle his troops and motivate them, perhaps even reward them. If Stiles were a racist, supremacist, bigoted old general supported by someone like, oh, I don’t know, crazy extremist leader Deucalion, he would definitely keep his and his allies’ troops on the front line. He would take advantage of the Hales in mourning, obviously, because that what crazy, bigoted, power-hungry leaders do when faced with a question of ethics.

Stiles closed his eyes, envisioning the capitol. His memories overlapped now – he kept getting flashes of the Old Days, when the castle was green with climbing ivy and filled to the brim with commoners. But today, the castle was… It was so hard to remember…

_The courtyard looked like something out of Sunshine’s romance novels – the sun glowed gently, perpetually, casting a warm shine on the white grounds despite the unforgiving cold._

When he opened his eyes, Stiles was sitting on the edge of the frozen fountain, the cloth of his pants sticking to the wet-cold ice. He raised his head slowly, casually, as if he hadn’t just cast a High Mage-Level transportation spell with natural magic. Two Argent sentries stood across from where he was seated, their jaws dropped hilariously wide. A trickle of blood rolled from Stiles’s nose. The Mage wiped it away carelessly.

“Well, boys,” Stiles smiled easily. “You’d better take me to your leader.”

_Present-Day_

King Argent had reached the top of the hill now, and he stood just a few feet away from Derek. It would be so easy, King Hale thought. To reach out one claw and slit this killer’s neck.

But at the same time, there was something odd about this man’s face. He was not like how he remembered King Argent. His eyes were browner, sadder. His cheeks were softer, and his shoulders straight through military rather than arrogance.

“Who are you?” King Hale asked.

Princess Allison ran forward before King Hale or Mage Lydia could stop her. She launched herself at the Argent King and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. In surprise, King Hale noticed the tears streaming. “Papa! Papa!”

“Oh, my girl.” Allison’s father cried as well, letting the armor on his head fall.

“Is this a joke?” King Hale demanded. “I was to speak to the King of the Argents, not his son. Does he not want a truce?”

The Red Mage started chuckling, and Derek glanced back in surprise. A delicate hand covered the soft smile, but the tears in her eyes gave her joy away. “I should have known. You never could resist making an entrance.”

“In the nick of time, sweet apprentice.”

Derek knew that voice.

 

He stared, stricken, as the man took down his dark hood to reveal a dangerous smile and golden eyes.

“We have much to talk about mine Prince. You have changed quite a bit since we met last.” The mage glanced downwards and smirked. “Certainly, you’ve grown.”

“But business first,” The Black Mage said. He held up a scroll. “Let’s sign this damned truce.”


	6. Epilogue

Soon after the truce, the Argents left the lands with promises of return and peace talks under King Chris’s rule.

King Chris swore he never knew the Kingdom of Hale had offered surrender before the Argents attacked.  Apparently, when the Black Mage appeared in the Argent camp, he used a simple mirror spell to reveal Gerard shooting down Queen Talia some twenty odd years ago, and then again plotting the demise of Princess Hale less than a week after the Hales begged truce. Tired of his father’s treacherous, hypocritical ways, Chris challenged the former Argent leader to a duel and won.

Gerard was still alive, and steaming mad, but he knew when to keep his mouth shut. Deucalion and his treacherous men were banished as enemies to both the Argents and the Kingdom of Hale. The wicked Mage Morris vanished mysteriously soon after Stiles unveiled Gerard’s true nature, but Stiles didn’t talk about that.

“We were told you held humans as slaves,” King Chris remembered. “It was unfathomable to believe that humans could be part of wolf packs.”

Over the next month, every available wolf was put to work in burying the dead and helping the living. Stiles’s hands were also kept busy. He was constantly flitting from place to place, healing wolves and rebuilding homes.

And yet, Derek could feel Stiles in his heart the way he once did. A warm glow told him where Stiles was at all times, filling him up and forcing his damned mouth to smile when he wasn’t paying attention. Laura would laugh at him if he were here.

At least he wasn’t as love-lost as Captain Scott and Princess Argent, who spent every last minute staring into each other’s eyes.

He wasn’t that lovesick. Was he?

All he knew was that he felt betrayed, and heartbroken, and overjoyed, and hopeful, and it was really as if his love had never died. He followed those golden eyes constantly, finding excuses just to keep the mage within his sights without actually approaching him. The King of Hales was a full-grown man, but he felt like a child.

Then one day, the King was reading the new treaty the Argents had drawn up, muttering under his breath, when he felt the presence of the Red Mage at his back. Her scent, sweet and sharp, surrounded him as she wrapped her arms around him. The Red Mage did that much more now. Touching. A joy he had never seen pinked the lady’s cheeks and lips now that Stiles was around.

“It is a cold day, your majesty.”

King Derek stared at the paper in front of him.

“He is waiting in the forest where you left him. Go see him, your majesty.”

 

Already, Derek could smell the bubbles and springwater. He could taste the heat on his lips, see those warm eyes crinkle. He nodded.

Lydia’s scent retreated, but Derek grabbed her hand before she left.

“I was never your master, was I?” Derek asked. He already knew the answer.

Lydia’s smile was in her words. “You were always my king, but you were never my master. When I asked you to return to the forest, it was never for me, but for the fool I serve.”

The Black Woods had grown crankier, if that were possible, since it had to house almost all of the people of the kingdom of Hale. The strange warmth had an almost pointed feeling. Many of the trees had developed crossed branches, as if they were pouting from having to work too hard. The Woods was too much like its master, it seemed.

About an hour into the stroll, the chattering ceased. Derek had arrived. He followed the trail at a slightly slower pace, as unprepared as ever for the constantly changing, twisted paths. That was how the Mage intended it.

He came across a clearing where the heatless sun beamed down upon some dying grass and a small, smooth headstone. Only this time, he was not alone. Derek took a deep breath.

“Hello, Stiles.” He grunted.

Stiles beamed up from where he was sitting, a hand on one of the gifts Derek had left on the grave. He looked like the old Stiles with that expression, just the way he had over twenty years ago when the pair would steal kisses in the pantry under the cook’s nose. Stiles patted the grass next to him in invitation.

Derek sat.

“You died,” Derek said.

Stiles laughed. “You would be dead if I had died, Derek.”

“I felt you die.”

“You felt me be reborn.”

“But you-”

“No, stop.” Stiles put a hand on Derek’s. The boy sighed.

“Twenty years ago, I knew I was going to die. Mages like me burn bright and die quick. If it wasn’t war, it would be famine, or any other matter of danger that would require my power, and I would use it all up protecting you and the rest of my wolves and I would die.

 

Derek, you would die too. That’s what happens to the bonded.

One day, I was walking in a depressed state through the cornfields when a pure-hearted farmer came across me laying in the fields. As we talked, he revealed to me that all he and his wife wanted in the world was a son to share the rest of their lives with. Thinking of you, I healed the hurt in his wife’s stomach so she would be able to keep the next child they conceived. In return, I told them that I would come back for the child if the kingdom were to fall to great harm.

I assured them that I was powerful enough that this would not be necessary, but a precaution. They were desperate, and they agreed.”

Derek stroked Stiles hands. They had clenched into fists, and the blunt nails drew blood.

“I could not predict the war only five years later. I was supposed to die, that day. But if I died, you would die.

So I returned to the farmer, and killed his wife, and stole his child’s life. Then I lived in a sleep-state in the body of a boy named Genim Stilinski. My father died thinking Genim lived.”

Stiles’s stomach curled at thought. Even now, a month after his memory had returned, Stiles tossed and turned at night – haunted by the broken faces of Johnathon, his father, and his mother.

“I’m Stiles, the Black Mage, and I’m not. I’m Genim, a petty thief and commoner. I’m your betrothed and your bonded, but I do not deserve your love after what I did. I killed for you, Derek. But I still killed.”

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, forgetting all insecurities. All that remained was him and Stiles. That was all that mattered.

The Black Mage sank into Derek’s touch, relieved. But the memories still plundered him – and they probably would for the rest of his life. “What would he think of me, my father?” Stiles asked Derek, as if the King knew. “By the Gods, I still think of John as my father, though a part of me only remembers him as the foolish farmer whom I deceived. I love him, but I love you-”

Derek cut him off with a hard, kiss. Suddenly, everything was swept away. Their love was all there was and it was all-consuming. Holding Stiles, Derek could only feel love and joy and forgiveness. When they stopped, the King was gifted with the sight of beautiful, gold eyes staring through long, wet lashes. They gazed at him like he was all that mattered.

“I love you,” Derek stated. It was that simple.

And they clung to each other, reunited at last, as the frigid winds howled overhead, rattling leaves and knocking on trees.

It was a cold day.


	7. Timeline and Extra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was rebuilding this, I realized how confusing it must be for my readers with all of the jumping back and forth. This is the Timeline I drew for myself to keep my story straight.Hopefully you could see that my time-jumps were purposeful - and reflective of Stiles's/Genim's own unfortunate psyche by the end of the ordeal. 
> 
> Also, enjoy the Extra!

Timeline

24 Years Ago

| 

Derek meets Stiles.

Stiles (15 years)

Derek (9 years)  
  
---|---  
  
24 Years Ago

| 

Stiles creates the Moving Black Woods.

Stiles (15 years)

Derek (9 years)  
  
23 Years Ago

| 

Talia Hale asks Stiles to keep his mate-bond with Derek secret

Stiles (16 years)

Derek (10 years)  
  
22 Years Ago

| 

Stiles has taken on Lydia as apprentices, teaches her the tale of knocking on trees.

Stiles (18 years)

Derek (13 years)

Lydia (18 years)  
  
21 Years Ago

| 

Derek forces mate-bond with Stiles.

Stiles (18 years)

Derek (13 years)  
  
20 Years Ago

| 

Stiles gives his life to create the Hale Kingdom barrier. Stiles kills Stilinski’s son and wife to take boy’s body.

Stiles (19 years) – Genim (0 Years)

Derek (14 years)  
  
10 Years Ago

| 

John Stilinski dies.

Genim (10 years)  
  
1 Year Ago

| 

Genim plots to steal the myth: The Black Book from the legendary mage of Hale Kingdom.

Genim (18 years)

Boyd (25 years)

Sunshine (19 years)  
  
Present-Day

| 

Genim arrives in Hale Kingdom

Genim (19 years)

Genim learns the secret of the Black Book

Genim-Stiles (20 years)

Derek (33 years)  
  
Extra

“You know,” Derek hummed. He seemed to hum a lot now that he had his mate back – a habit the King picked up from the insufferable Mage, no doubt. “I kind of recognized Stiles’s eyes in his new body.”

“Oh, is it Stiles now? I thought he wanted to be called Genim, today.” Lydia recalled dispassionately.

Derek fell silent, picking at his sleeve.

Lydia stopped stirring the potion to eye her King. “Your majesty, it’s been less than a year. Genim has only been Stiles for as long, even if Stiles has been Genim for two decades. You need to be patient.”

“It’s just that… He forgets, sometimes.” The King mumbled. “That he loves me.”

The Red Mage put one hand on her hips and raised the other to point at the King and his pathetic melancholy. “Now listen here, my King. Stiles and Genim love you. There is only one soul, imprisoned in two bodies, stuck in two points in time, and the one constancy of mine master’s whole damned life is how he feels about you.  Every day he battles both sides of himself for control. In return for his second life, mine master is a scarred man.  You need to take a holiday from your spiraling tornado of self-pity and think for him, not just of him.”

Derek gaped.

Lydia nodded shortly and returned to her mixture. It was tiring, having to take care of those two damned boys all the time. A wonder they got together at all.

“Now, what were you saying about recognizing Genim?” The Red Mage inquired peacefully, pretending she hadn’t just snapped at the King of the Clawed Throne.

Derek shifted uneasily. “I thought I recognized him. Genim’s eyes. They’re the same as when he was Stiles.”

Lydia shrugged. “They should be. Mine master isn’t the only one to successfully reincarnate himself, although he is the first to make it out with his minds intact. Somewhat.” The witch poured the potion she had been stirring into a ceramic bowl carved with runes. “In every documented case of reincarnation, the spellcaster carries bits of his or her old self into the new body. Not to mention, the eyes _are_ the window to the soul. Now drink this.”  Lydia shoved the bowl at Derek’s mouth.

The King rolled his eyes but drank. It tasted like mint tea and ash, and it burned his throat like alcohol on the way down. 

“How much longer do I need this?” The King demanded, eyes watering. “I don’t even know what I’m drinking.”

The Red Mage bowed low so her long red locks covered her features, except for the curve of pretty, ruby lips.

“It’s the full moon, your majesty.”

“And?”

“And _Genim_ has yet to consummate your marriage. He asked about your virility.” There was a crash as the King ran out the door.

Shaking her head, the Red Mage began clearing the bowls and ingredients she used to make the potion. Seriously, she hummed to herself. Just like boys.


End file.
